Little Girl Lost
by Aireon Maris
Summary: "Not every angel supports Zachariah! When Castiel fell, there were twelve who followed him. The others turned on us. Only I survived. I have sacrificed my brothers and sisters to help you fight your war, Dean Winchester." 1st in the Angel of Truth cycle.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: Ah, time continuum. Lessee here. This takes place directly after Season Five episode "The End" where Dean and Sam have reunited. Aaaand that's all, folks!

XXXXXX

The rain came down in sheets, and the last thing Dean Winchester wanted was to be out in it. But at least it would wash the blood out of his clothes. He rolled the last body off the end of the dock into the river and waited until it disappeared under the dark water.

"I freakin' hate New Jersey, man," he griped to his brother as they stood for a moment, looking down at the river that now concealed five mutilated corpses.

Sam brooded. Well, of course he did. He was Sam, wasn't he? But he seemed broodier than usual. Had been ever since they hooked up again. Dean would bet anything he kept going over what Lucifer said in his head, the thing about being his true vessel and all that crap. It didn't matter, because there was no way in hell he was gonna let the Devil wear his brother like a cheap tux. Not gonna happen.

"Let's go, dude," Dean said, slapping Sam on the shoulder. "If I get any wetter I'm gonna melt. Besides, I'm starving."

"You're always starving," Sam replied, turning away from the river and keeping pace with Dean as they left the pier.

"And your point is?"

Sam huffed and almost smiled before hunching his shoulders against the icy rain trickling under his collar. "That was a kinda weird hunt," he observed after a minute.

"I know. Harpies? What's up with that?" Dean squinted against the rain up at the buildings they passed. If by some very small chance they had missed one, he didn't want to be caught off guard.

"We haven't dealt with harpies in, like, what? Fifteen years?"

"Something like that," Dean replied with a nod. "Dad went after that nest in Omaha a couple of weeks before school started."

"Yeah." Sam sighed and fell silent. He suddenly turned slightly to look at Dean. "I could really go for a beer."

Dean flashed him a grin. "You know I'm always up for it."

They finally reached the car. Sam went ahead and folded into the passenger side while Dean stowed the duffel. As he eased into the driver's seat, Dean winced at the squeak of his wet clothes against the leather upholstery. He'd have to clean it up when they got back to the motel. Neither made any attempt to continue the conversation as they pulled away from the wharfs and headed back into town.

Despite the weather, he wasn't really paying much attention to the road in front of him. It was past midnight; hardly anyone was out. So when the teenaged girl ran into the road almost directly in front of him, it took Dean a second to react. With an unmanly yelp of surprise (which he would vehemently deny later), he slammed on the brakes. The car fishtailed slightly as it skidded to a halt, so close to the girl she slapped her hands on the hood on instinct.

"Holy shit, man!" Sam croaked. For a second, the brothers stared out at the girl, who was staring back at them, pale blonde hair dripping into huge, gray eyes. Then she suddenly whipped her head back in the direction she had come from.

Two men appeared from between the buildings and started towards the girl. She twisted and tried to make a run for it, but collapsed on her hands and knees with a cry. Dean was out of the Impala before he could think twice, reaching for the .45 under his jacket. A glance out the corner of his eyes showed Sam already out and kneeling beside the girl, one long arm around her shoulders and his own gun in hand.

Dean stalked towards the men, lifting his pistol. "Back off," he snarled, setting himself between the girl and her pursuers. He could hear her quick, frightened gasps and Sam's low murmur.

The men came to halt, looking Dean up and down. One stepped forward. "Give us the girl," he growled.

Dean sighted down the barrel of his gun. "I don't think so."

The men bared their teeth eagerly and lunged forward. Dean stepped backwards and his finger tightened on the trigger when the girl cried out behind him.

"Exorcizo te, creatura aquae! In nomine dei patris omnipotentes!"

The men both recoiled, steam rising from their feet as they scrambled to get out of the puddle they had been standing in. Their eyes flickered to solid black and Dean sprang backwards with a curse. _Demons_. Gun still raised, he half-turned to get a look behind him.

The girl was leaning away from the shelter of Sam's arm, her hand plunged in the same puddle the demons had been standing in. She had blessed the water, Dean realized. How had she done it without a rosary? It didn't matter at the moment.

"Get her in the car," Dean ordered his brother tersely. Sam gathered the girl in his arms and bundled them both into the back seat. The demons advanced around the puddle of holy water, snarling in anger. Dean pumped two bullets into each of their chests purely on principle, all too aware that the plain metal did nothing. Taking the chance, he turned his back and bolted for the driver's side, flinging himself in and shifting the car into drive.

Dean stomped the gas pedal, wheels spinning before finally gaining purchase on the rain-slick asphalt. He clipped the taller of the two demons as he sped away, allowing himself a tight smile. He glanced in the rear view mirror.

"She okay, Sammy?" he demanded.

"I'm fine," the girl gasped, not moving from where she was slumped against Sam. "I'm all right."

"Damn, kid, what the hell was that about?" Dean demanded.

She squeezed her eyes shut and shuddered. "I—" she began, but faltered.

"It's okay, we know about demons," Sam told her quickly.

She gulped. "They—they're trying to kill me."

"We got that," Dean said dryly. "Why?"

"I have something they want," she replied wearily.

"Don't worry," Sam assured her. "You're safe now. We're gonna take care of you."

She nodded and relaxed further against Sam's side. "I know," she whispered. Dean glanced back again, first to make sure that they weren't being followed and second to check on the girl.

"Sam?" he asked.

"She passed out," Sam replied, lifting his fingers from the pulse point on her throat. "She's in pretty bad shape, Dean."

"Yeah. I don't think those two picked up our trail," Dean went on. "But we shouldn't risk it. I'm gonna take the long way back to the motel."

"We should pick up some food, too," Sam added. Dean frowned through the mirror at his brother. Catching Dean's expression, Sam elaborated, "She's all bones, Dean. It looks like she hasn't eaten in weeks."

"Okay. We'll stop somewhere for takeout." Dean set his jaw and stared out at the gray-curtained world outside the Impala. He really, really hated demons. He drove aimlessly around downtown Camden for over an hour, stopping at a twenty-four hour greasy spoon diner, before finally parking in front of their motel room door. The kid slept the entire time.

Sam carefully carried her into the room, setting her gently on the nearest bed and began checking her for injuries. She had stopped shivering sometime during the drive, thanks to Dean cranking the heat to uncomfortable levels. As Sam tended to the girl, Dean circled the room, packing up their scattered clothing and equipment, just in case they needed to make a fast exit. They didn't want to leave any evidence behind.

"Dean, bring me the first aid kit," Sam instructed. As Dean joined him by the bedside with the plastic case in hand, Dean grimaced at what he saw. The girl's arms and torso were covered in bruises and scrapes. There was a pattern that definitely resembled finger marks disappearing beneath her camisole, which Sam had left on to preserve her modesty.

But Sam was more concerned about the girl's feet. As he eased the first shoe free, it revealed her sock splotchy with blood at toe and heel. The other foot was just as bad. Sam ordered Dean to get warm water and began to carefully cut the blood-soaked material away. The skin had been worn completely away, leaving patches of raw, weeping flesh.

"That is just wrong," Dean said as he watched Sam secure the last bit of gauze. "How is that even possible?"

"She's been walking for a long time," Sam observed. "My guess is she's not from around here. She was scared and she ran. Who knows how long those demons were chasing her?" Finished with his ministrations, Sam covered the girl with a blanket and settled at the table with his laptop.

"What're you doing?" Dean demanded, fishing out his portion of the food. He'd lost his appetite the minute he'd seen the girl's injuries, but he knew it'd been at least eight hours since his last meal and he couldn't run on empty forever.

"Searching missing persons reports of girls matching her description. Someone might be looking for her."

Dean glanced at their guest. "I hope so," he murmured. He ate stoically and mechanically while Sam worked. After what seemed like hours, Sam finally straightened. "Got something?" Dean asked, setting his unfinished food aside.

"Maybe. There was a report submitted two weeks ago. Mallory Graves, nineteen, disappeared from the campus of University of Detroit Mercy. Check out the picture."

The girl on the computer screen bore a passing resemblance to the girl sleeping a few feet away from the brothers, except she was smiling, uninjured, and looked a few pounds heavier. "That...could be her," Dean said slowly. "Detroit? That's, like, six hundred miles."

Sam shrugged. "It's a long shot. I'll keep looking."

Dean glanced at the girl and stiffened. "Don't bother. I think she's waking up."

The girl was tossing silently, her expression twisted and frightened. Sam got up hurriedly and Dean, knowing his brother was the more empathic of the pair, let him go. Crouching next to the bed so as not to loom over the girl, Sam laid a large hand on her shoulder and shook her gently.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," he murmured. "You're all right. You're safe. No one's going to hurt you."

Her eyes flew open with a gasp and she recoiled from Sam so quickly she almost fell off the bed. Sam rocked back on his heels, lifting his hands to show they were empty. She relaxed almost instantly, her breathing returning to normal.

"Oh," she said in a tiny voice. "Hi."

"Hi," Sam replied. "You okay?"

She nodded, tucking a strand of hair behind one ear. "Yeah."

"What's your name?"

She chewed on her lower lip for a second. "Mal," she replied at length.

Dean perked up. "Mallory?" he guessed. "From Detroit?"

The girl looked confused, but not scared or nervous. "How'd you know that?"

"We checked missing persons," Sam explained.

"Oh," she said again. Her gaze wandered off into nothing, her eyes growing unfocused. Sam moved so he was in her field of vision.

"Hey, can we ask you a couple of questions?"

She blinked, coming abruptly back to the present. "Uh, yeah, I guess."

"The demons, did this all start when you disappeared, two weeks ago?"

Mallory shook her head. "No. First it was the guy who grabbed me on the way home from school. He had me in his basement for a while, I dunno how long. Then..." she trailed off. Clearing her throat, she started again. "Then the demons came."

"Shit," Dean muttered in sympathy. Kid couldn't catch a break. She'd gone from human monsters to real monsters and he had the feeling things were just getting started.

"You told us in the car that you had something the demons wanted," Sam pressed, his voice gentle. "Can you tell us what that is?"

She shook her head. "I don't know," she replied, sounding unutterably tired. Sam frowned.

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know if I should," she said, her voice rapidly losing strength. "But she's awake. She wants to talk to you."

Sam glanced at Dean, who was busy staring at the girl. Her shoulders slumped and her head lolled forward. Then she abruptly straightened. Her expression was now hard and emotionless.

"Dean, Sam, we don't have much time," she said. Her voice had dropped nearly half an octave.

Dean jumped to his feet. He knew instinctively that this was no longer Mallory Graves from Detroit. "Who the hell are you?" he demanded. The girl turned her head to look at Dean. Her eyes were dark and fathomless, unspeakably ancient and completely alien in her young face.

Dean suddenly found it hard to breathe. The color was wrong but the look in those eyes was piercingly familiar. So when she spoke again, he wasn't completely surprised.

"My name is Amitiel. I am an angel."


	2. Chapter 2

For a moment the motel room was silent. The girl continued to stare expectantly at Dean. Sam glanced from her to Dean and back again. He cleared his throat. "What do you want from us?" he asked at length.

Amitiel tore her storm-colored eyes from Dean's face and transferred them to Sam. "I need you to contact Castiel."

"Why? So you can turn on him?" Dean accused, motioning for Sam to back away from her.

The girl shook her head. "You don't understand. Castiel is in danger. I must warn him." When neither of the Winchester boys reacted, she pressed her lips together and exhaled sharply. "Listen to me, not every angel supports Zachariah!"

When there was still no reaction, she clenched her fists, her expression twisting. "When Castiel fell, there were twelve who followed him," she hissed angrily. "The others turned on us. Only I survived. I have sacrificed my brothers and sisters in order to help you fight your war, Dean Winchester. Contact Castiel. _Now._"

Dean stepped backwards from the force of her words. Licking his lips nervously, he glanced at Sam, who only shrugged fractionally. With a sigh, Dean dug his cellphone out and punched in Castiel's number. He turned slightly away from Amitiel, who seemed to have lost her brief spurt of energy.

"_What is it?"_ Castiel's greeting was blunt as always.

Dean hesitated fractionally. "Uh, yeah, hey. We're in Camden, New Jersey, the Gardens Motel. Room 113. Got an angel here claiming to be a friend of yours."

"_Who?"_ Castiel sounded suspicious and vaguely confused.

"Calls herself Amitiel," Dean began, but cut himself off when a light breeze stirred the air, accompanied by the sound of feathered wings. He turned to see Castiel striding across the room, pocketing his cellphone.

Amitiel straightened, her expression softening. She extended her hands toward Castiel, who knelt on the floor in front of her, clasping her hands tightly. Castiel searched the other angel's face, gaze lingering on the bruise spread over her right cheekbone.

"What happened?" he asked gravely.

"I was ambushed," she replied. "I had not considered the loss of power once heaven is out of reach."

"I told you not to follow me," Castiel told her reprovingly. She offered the faintest of smiles in return.

"Since when has that ever stopped me?" She sobered instantly. "We don't have much time. I only barely survived the attack. My former vessel was destroyed, and my power is all but gone. The demons tracked me here. They will eventually find me."

Castiel nodded. "I will eliminate them." He moved to stand, but Amitiel didn't release his hands, pulling him back down.

"Castiel, wait," she said urgently. "They are followers of Belial."

That got his attention. His brow furrowed in thought. "How many?"

Amitiel shook her head. "I don't know. They'll be looking for you. They know we're vulnerable."

"Does anyone want to explain what the hell is going on?" Dean cut in, glaring at the angels. Castiel and Amitiel both turned to stare at him with identical expressions. It was Amitiel who spoke first.

"Belial is a demon Castiel and I imprisoned over a thousand years ago. His followers are trying to free him, but the ritual to release him requires the blood of the ones who bound him."

"If he were to be freed, he would be a powerful ally for Lucifer," Castiel added. "We cannot allow this to happen." He stood, and this time Amitiel let him go. "Dean, Sam, you need to get Amitiel as far away from here as you can. I will ensure you are not followed."

Dean sighed internally. Typical angel arrogance, assuming that the humans would obey without question. The problem was, Dean couldn't find a reason not to. So he nodded wearily. "All right. We'll hit the road, head west. We'll be in touch."

"I will contact you soon," Castiel told him. He looked down at the female angel. "They will protect you."

She reached out again, touching his arm. "Be careful," she said softly. He covered her hand with his but said nothing to reassure her. Then he was gone. Amitiel sighed faintly. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and made as if to stand, only to fall backwards again, her expression tightening. She regarded her bandaged feet.

"Mallory did not tell me she was in pain," she said, her brow furrowed.

Dean gathered up their bags and caught Sam's eye, gesturing toward the angel with his head. "Help her out to the car."

Sam approached Amitiel warily, but she did not protest when he curled one arm around her shoulders and slid the other underneath her knees. As he lifted her into the air, she balanced herself by gripping his shoulder.

As they headed out the door, Dean remembered to grab Mallory's shirt and jacket, removed in order for Sam to assess her condition. The rain had finally stopped, leaving the world wet and glistening. Dean focused on getting them to the highway before he glanced back to check on the girl. She was staring out the window, looking slightly lost.

"Are you Amitiel, or Mallory?" Dean asked abruptly. The girl started.

"Uh, it's Mal," she stuttered. "She's resting."

"How does that work?" Dean asked. "I mean, from what we've seen with angels before, they're not interested in time shares."

Mallory shifted slightly and reached up to rub her temple. "She's really weak. Most of the time she's unconscious. When she's awake, I let her take control because she actually knows what she's doing."

Sam twisted to face her. "What's it like?" he asked softly. "Having an angel inside you?"

She hesitated for a long moment. "It's like...light. She tries to hold herself back but there's so much of it and sometimes I don't think I can keep it all in. And...she's broken. Like bits of glass." She frowned and shifted again. "Mostly it just hurts."

At Sam's expression she hurried on, "No, it's not like that! She can't help it! And things she shows me...it's amazing! I mean, a lot of it is scary as hell, but," She struggled with her words again. "The memories of heaven...it's so beautiful." When she saw that she had failed to convince Sam, she continued in a whisper, "She saved my life. This is the least I could do in return."

"So this Belial dude," Dean cut in.

"He's powerful," Mallory replied instantly. "Really powerful. I mean, really really. If he got loose it'd be pretty bad. Scorched earth, boiling seas kind of bad. His followers have to get hold of Castiel and Amitiel at the same time. Bleed them all over the gate of his prison."

"Great," Dean muttered.

Mallory shifted again, reaching up to feel the bruise on her cheek. She winced and dropped her hand. "Uh...where are we going?"

"Dunno yet," Dean replied. "Somewhere away."

"We could go to Bobby's," Sam suggested. "Lay low for a while."

"Let's make sure Cas has got rid of any trails we could pick up before we decide on a destination," Dean said.

Mallory shuddered suddenly, her shoulders hunching and her arms wrapping around herself. Sam grabbed her jacket and handed it to her. "You okay?"

She took it gratefully, sliding it on with difficulty. "Yeah. She's just—she's worried about Castiel." Her stomach suddenly growled, loud in the silent car. Embarrassed, she pressed a hand over her stomach.

"Aw, damn," Dean muttered. "We forgot the food."

Sam checked his watch. "It's five in the morning. I don't know if any place will be open."

"It's okay," Mallory said quickly. "I can wait."

Dean looked at her through the mirror. "Mal, when was the last time you ate?" he demanded.

She gnawed her lower lip. "Uh...few days? I can't remember," she admitted. "Ami's kept me going."

"Ami, huh?" Dean said. Mallory wrinkled her nose.

"She's got a weird name, okay? I just started calling her Ami in my head and she's never bothered to correct me." Her stomach grumbled again and she grimaced.

"Gas station," Sam said, pointing.

"Good eye," Dean replied, pulling in. "Wait here. I'll grab some snacks."

"Something substantial," Sam said as the older Winchester climbed out of the car. "She'll get sick if she fills up on sugar." When Dean merely waved over his shoulder, Sam yelled, "I mean it, Dean!"

"Thanks," Mallory said softly. Sam turned to stare at her. "For helping me. You don't have to, you know."

Sam wasn't sure what to say. "You're welcome," he finally replied. Mallory looked away, but her gray eyes wandered back to his face. They were suspiciously bright.

"I'm never gonna be able to go back, am I?" she asked. "I was at school, and I think I missed midterms. All of that's over, isn't it?"

Sam couldn't meet her gaze. "What were you studying?" he asked, avoiding her question.

"Nursing," she replied. "Trauma care." She took a deep breath and wiped at her eyes. "But it doesn't matter anymore. This—this is what's important now." Her voice was shaky, as if she was trying to convince herself.

"I'm sorry," Sam offered. He knew exactly what she was going through. She didn't want any of this. But she was caught up in it nonetheless. It would consume her and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

"Me, too," she whispered. She glanced out the window and saw Dean returning with a plastic bag. She immediately attempted to compose herself, schooling her expression. Dean climbed into the car and handed the bag back.

"Sandwiches," he said shortly. "Eat slowly."

She tried. She really did. But after the fist few bites she realized just how hungry she was and she devoured both ham sandwiches in as many minutes. She drank the water slowly, in small sips. Then she curled up in the back seat and fell asleep, completely dead to the world.


	3. Chapter 3

Part of him was furious. He had told his sister in no uncertain terms that she was not, under any circumstances, to follow him in his rebellion. She hadn't listened. His anger was justified. And on the other hand, it wasn't. Amitiel wasn't under his authority. She never had been. But he had been trying to protect her.

Part of him was saddened. The horrible emptiness in his chest was hard enough for him to bear. The absence of his siblings' voices in his head was cruel. But now he knew Amitiel was going through the same thing. Loneliness was a terrible thing for a creature created to be part of a multitude. A solitary angel was an aberration of nature.

Part of him, the deep, secret part that had fomented his rebellion, was grateful. Because he was no longer alone. Even if it was one instead of a million, he had a family again. Castiel tightened his grip on his sword. And his family had been threatened, pursued, harmed.

Castiel was new to the experience of deep emotions, but he understood familial loyalty.

It took him mere moments to identify the presence of the demons, and a few more to track them down. Eschewing stealth, he transported himself directly into the alley they were currently occupying. There were three of them, all in male hosts, all of them turning to stare at him, their eyes shuttering solid black out of instinct.

The first demon attacked within seconds, something glinting in his hands Castiel couldn't quite get a good look at. He dodged the demon's hands, slashing out with his sword. The blade connected with something in mid air with a metallic ringing and the demon's weapon flashed into view.

It was a chain, soot-black and etched with glowing red runes. It wrapped around his sword and yanked it from his grasp, flinging the blade to the ground. Castiel ducked as the chain next spun towards his head.

The other two demons converged on him, swinging chains of their own. Castiel located his sword with a flick of thought and tried to summon it to his hand. Unfortunately, that was one of the powers severely weakened since his fall from heaven.

The tallest of the demons sent his chain whirring at Castiel, not at his head, but over his shoulder at his left wing. Castiel reached up to catch the chain, hoping to disarm the demon. The instant his hand closed around the metal, he regretted it.

It burned like hellfire and damnation, eating into his skin as smoke rose from the contact. He dropped it with a startled hiss, much to the demons' amusement. They advanced on him with wolfish grins, one of them kicking away the angel's sword as he stepped over it. Castiel's eyes followed the weapon as it spun across the asphalt.

"We came after the little bitch," the middle demon sneered. "And look what we've got here. Must be our lucky day."

Castiel flared his wings and, before the demons could react, shifted behind them, scooped up his sword, and lunged forward. The middle demon whirled around in time to catch Castiel's down stroke just above the collar bone.

The demon glowed red-purple from the inside, the shadow of his bones showing through his skin. Then he slid off the blade to crumple to the ground. Castiel moved into a defensive pose, staring down the remaining two.

The demon on the right snarled and lashed out towards Castiel's legs. He darted left, bringing him within range of the other. He felt rather than saw the chain whip around his right wing, snapping feathers and burning flesh. He stumbled and fell hard on his knees, his left hand keeping him from collapsing fully.

The chain was yanked hard and pain seared down the abused limb, forcing a low cry from Castiel's clenched teeth. He saw legs and feet approach from the corner of his eye.

"Bind him," he heard one order the other. He heard the clinks of another chain. The legs got closer. Castiel pushed himself upright and swung his sword, slicing across the demon's thighs. The demon stumbled backwards with a scream, dropping the chain binding Castiel's wing. Ignoring the pain, he shook the chain away and lunged to his feet.

The injured demon had fallen to the ground, legs slashed to the bone. Castiel whirled away from the demon still standing and went down on one knee to plunge his sword through the injured demon's chest. He yanked it free and stood, looking for the last demon.

The demon had vanished, leaving Castiel alone with the corpses of the other two. The angel exhaled heavily. No doubt it would return with reinforcements. However, his first objective was accomplished; no one was pursuing Amitiel anymore.

He slid his sword into the sleeve of his coat where it vanished instantly. Next he turned his attention to his wing. With a frown, he tried stretching it to its full extent and was frustrated when it unfurled halfway and halted, twitching spasmodically. With one hand, he smoothed the frayed and broken feathers, feeling the heat of swollen muscles underneath. The chain had left bloody welts, red ichor staining the silver-white pinions. It would take him a couple of hours to heal enough to follow Dean, Sam, and Amitiel.

Folding his wings tightly across his back, he left the alley in search of somewhere quiet he could wait while he healed. He walked nearly four blocks before he came across a small church, its front doors unlocked. Castiel slipped inside the sanctuary and folded himself into the nearest pew, shuffling his wings into the most comfortable position.

Above the altar at the front of the chamber was a stained glass window depicting an angel wearing armor and wielding a flaming sword. Judging from the colors and symbols, Castiel identified the image as his older brother Michael. The glass image showed a gentle expression on the archangel's face, his free hand extended in benediction.

Castiel tilted his head as he studied the artwork. It was nothing like the terrible, merciless warrior Castiel knew his brother to be. It puzzled him sometimes, the human idea of angels. They expected them to be kind, gentle...compassionate. Angels were warriors of their Father. Compassion very rarely factored into that.

After some time, the door to the sanctuary opened noiselessly and a woman slipped in. Castiel didn't have to look around to see identify her. She didn't seem to notice him as she slowly walked up the center aisle, dragging her feet. She had short black hair that stuck in all directions, and her clothing was old, worn, but clean. Castiel remained perfectly still.

She looked up, perhaps by chance or perhaps sensing someone's gaze on her, and gasped when she finally saw Castiel. "Oh!" she said, backing away. "I-I didn't know there was anyone in here."

"My apologies," Castiel replied politely. "It was not my intention to startle you."

She lowered her hands from where they had been clenched over her chest. "It's not that," she stammered. "There just isn't ever anyone here when I come in."

"You normally come here at this hour?" Castiel asked. "It is several hours before dawn."

"I know," the woman admitted. "But it's just...I mean, I..." she trailed off again, wringing her hands. Finally she hung her head. "I'm not exactly the Sunday morning kind of person," she said sadly. She sank into the pew across from Castiel with a sigh. "I feel like people...they look at me, and judge me."

"Only God can judge the soul," Castiel replied automatically. He may be able to see the soul, and evaluate it, but only his Father could decide upon its eternal fate.

The woman offered him a hesitant smile. "That's what the Bible says," she agreed. "I like coming here alone, anyway," she hurried on. "I like the quiet when I pray."

Castiel lowered his head, his brow furrowing. He prayed almost constantly, petitioning his Father for guidance, but now answer ever came. He was forced to rely on his own knowledge of his Father's will and what he believed in his heart was right.

"If you don't mind," the woman's timid voice interrupted his thoughts. "What are you doing here?"

"I am waiting to heal," the angel replied honestly.

"Oh," the woman said, blinking. "I guess we're all a little broken, huh?"

That was more true than she realized, Castiel mused. He thought of Dean, defiant, angry, and irreverent, still refusing to believe he was worth saving. Of Sam, who so desperately wanted salvation but whose own blood betrayed those desires. Of himself, fallen from heaven, his grace severely diminished. He exhaled deeply.

"Yes," he agreed solemnly. And then, because the weight on her soul was troubling him, he added, "You should forgive yourself for her death."

The woman stiffened, staring at him with wide eyes and open mouth. "W-what?" she stuttered.

"You never forgave yourself for the death of your baby," Castiel said. "It is time you let it go. God has already forgiven you, Tabitha."

She pressed her hand over her mouth. "How do you know that?" she murmured, half in horror and half in shock. "How did you know my name?"

"The same way I know you have not used drugs since your daughter's death. That you pray for her soul every day, that she won't be punished for your sins." Castiel paused. "She wasn't. Your baby's soul is in heaven now."

Tears were running down Tabitha's cheeks, and Castiel knew she was torn, her instinct telling her he was insane and her heart wanting to believe him. "Who are you?" she whispered.

"I am Castiel, an angel of the Lord," he replied gravely. Tabitha's eyes widened even further.

"You—" she could seem to get any more words past her lips.

Castiel stretched his injured wing, satisfied that it was now sufficiently healed, and rose to his feet to cross over to Tabitha. Compassion was rarely part of his duties, but it _did_ occur. Kneeling in front of the distraught woman, he took her hands in his.

"My Father loves all his children." Castiel knew this to be true. He _needed_ it to be true. "Even you, Tabitha. Trust in Him." He touched her forehead in a brief blessing and stood. Then he unfurled his wings and departed.

XxxXxxX

In the sunlight shining through the diner window, Mallory looked a good deal better. She was still worryingly pale, but a real meal was doing wonders for her. She had been very insistent on getting her french toast _without_ syrup, _with_ applesauce on the side, and lots of cinnamon, thank you. The waitress must have felt sorry for the bruised girl (they'd told her Mal had fallen down a flight of stairs) and had quite happily catered to her every whim.

Sam watched the girl closely as she dumped the applesauce over her toast and began eating. She'd made the effort to make herself look passable, finger-combing her white blonde hair into something resembling orderly. She'd struggled back into her shirt when it finally dried. Her denim jacket hid most of the dirt and wrinkles. Sam made a mental note to convince Dean to stop at a second-hand store before they left the tiny, Maryland town.

Sam had carried her into the diner when she'd failed another attempt at walking. She'd barely managed to squeeze her bandaged feet into her filthy sneakers without crying in pain. That was going to be a problem if they weren't able to get somewhere safe fast. Sam still wanted to go to Bobby's, but Dean was of the opinion it was too far. Unfortunately, they didn't really have anywhere else to go.

At his elbow, Dean was wolfing down his steak and eggs as if he had just survived a famine. While Mallory had an excuse for her enthusiasm, Dean didn't, and his manners were starting to annoy the younger Winchester brother. He jostled Dean's arm just enough to send the next bite toppling off the fork. Dean glared. Sam looked innocent.

Mallory's fork suddenly clattered onto her plate. Both brothers looked up. She was staring out the window, her eyes dark and fathomless.

"What's wrong?" Sam and Dean demanded at the same time. Mallory tilted her head slightly to the right.

"Castiel should have returned by now," the girl said without looking at either of them. Sam recognized the tone. Mallory was no longer in control.

"I'm sure Cas is fine, Amitiel," he assured her. "He would have let us know if he got into any trouble."

"If he could get to his cell phone," Dean muttered. "_Ow_!" he hissed when Sam's size thirteen sneaker came in contact with his shin.

"He's _fine_," Sam insisted. Amitiel's fingers began worrying the napkin beside Mallory's plate. She continued to stare out the window. "You should finish eating," Sam went on. "You're gonna need the strength."

Amitiel tore her gaze from the window and looked down at the half-eaten french toast. Picking up the fork, she poked a bite-sized piece cautiously, a tiny furrow between her brows. Skewering the fried bread, she lifted to her mouth and bit down. The furrow deepened as she chewed. Sam realized that both he and Dean were watching her expectantly. Something resembling approval sparkled in her eyes and she resumed eating, a bit more methodically this time.

"Um...Amitiel?" She looked up when Sam called her name. "What's Mal doing?"

The angel tilted her head. "She is currently exploring my memory of the attack of Jerusalem by the Romans."

Sam sputtered for a moment. "You were _there_?" he demanded, slightly shrilly.

Amitiel nodded, her expression unchanging. "Yes." She went back to eating.

Somehow Sam never really thought about the fact that the angels were, in all probability, older than the human race and witness to its entire history. The idea was...exciting, to say the least. He opened his mouth to babble a stream of questions when Dean elbowed him in the ribs, hard.

"What the hell?" he demanded, rubbing the sore spot.

"I'm not sitting through one of your geekgasms, all right? Let's just eat and get back on the road."

Sam huffed and resisted the urge to pout, turning his attention back to his blueberry waffles. For a second time, he looked up when a fork clattered against a plate. Amitiel was struggling to her feet, steadying herself against the table before taking a wobbly step. Sam lunged forward just in time to keep her from falling.

"Whoa! What are you doing?" Sam demanded. Amitiel shook him off and started tottering towards the door. Dean glanced out the window where the angel had been staring.

"Dude, Cas is back," he said, catching sight of a familiar tan trench coat on the street outside. Sam glanced from his brother to Amitiel and back. Dean waved him on. "Stay with her. I'll pay." Sam nodded and hurried after the girl. The bell above the door rang cheerfully as Sam stepped out of the diner. Amitiel had come to a stop a few paces away, perhaps acknowledging her vessel's injuries.

Sam came to a halt behind the female angel and the watched Castiel approach. Then everything went sideways.

Two men lunged out of nowhere, grabbing hold of Castiel. Three more appeared, one jumping onto at Castiel's back to drive him to his knees. Chains draped from their hands; they snarled as they struggled to bind the angel.

"Castiel!" Amitiel screamed, starting to run towards her brother, injured feet forgotten. Sam ran after her, mind racing. All he had on him was his .45, and the demons wouldn't even flinch that. Yet he knew he had to do _something_.

"_No!_" Castiel bellowed, fighting madly against the demons. His sword appeared in his hand and he thrust it into one's stomach. "Stay back! Amitiel, _stay back!_" She ignored him and kept running toward him. Sam caught up with her and grabbed her around her waist, dragging her backwards.

"Let me go!" She struck at him with her fists, but he held on resolutely.

"There's nothing we can do," Sam told her grimly. She wasn't listening, twisting madly in his grasp in her desperation to reach her sibling. Castiel met Sam's gaze and nodded slightly in approval. Then one of the demons struck him across the back of his head, knocking him unconscious. It grabbed hold of him and vanished. The remaining three charged toward Sam and Amitiel.

Sam released Amitiel only to grab her arm and drag her, still resisting, toward the Impala. Dean burst out of the diner doors and ran to meet them. He wrenched the trunk open and flung a bottle of holy water at Sam, who snatched it in mid air. Ruby's knife followed; Dean armed himself with a shotgun. They whirled around to face the demons.

Amitiel bounded the few yards separating them, a silver blade in her hand. Her face was twisted in rage, her lips drawn back in a silent snarl. A demon swung his chain at her, the links whirring through the air. She ducked smoothly under his arm and pirouetted around behind him. She plunged her sword into his back, the point emerging from his chest. Before she could yank her sword free, another chain lashed around her arm, jerking her sideways.

Sam and Dean reached the struggle by this point. Sam dashed holy water into the face of the demon holding Amitiel, sending him recoiling backwards with a shriek. Dean blasted the remaining demon with two shells of rock salt, giving Sam the opportunity to drag Amitiel to her feet.

She was keening in pain, clawing at the chain wrapped around her arm, but every time her fingers touched it, smoke rose from the contact. There wasn't time to pull it free, so Sam just pushed her behind him. His opponent recovered and lunged at the hulking Winchester, hands clawed as if to rip his eyes out. Sam threw the last of the holy water at him, then swung the knife in an arc, neatly slitting the demon's throat.

When he looked around for Dean, he found his brother flat on his back, the last demon on top of him, using the shotgun to choke the older Winchester. Sam lunged, knife raised. The demon looked up sharply and Sam was flung off his feet, landing on the pavement several yards away. He lifted his head in time to see Amitiel fling herself bodily at the demon.

Despite her tiny size, she sent them both tumbling away from Dean. She managed to land on top and looped the demon's chain around his throat, pulling it tight despite the smell of scorched flesh. Dean rolled over, coughing, as he crawled over to where Amitiel's sword had fallen. Stumbling to his feet, he staggered over to the angel and demon and leaned over to plunge the sword through the demon's chest.

Amitiel instantly dropped the chain, pushing herself away from the demon and nursing her hands against her ribs. Dean looked from her to his brother and back.

"We gotta get out of here."

"I'm going to find my brother," Amitiel replied stubbornly. Dean glared at her. She looked like a stiff breeze could knock her over.

"We'll find Cas," he told her. "But we can't do that from inside a jail cell. Which is where we'll end up if we stick around. Come on."

Amitiel hesitated, and then pointed to the abandoned chain weapons. "Bring those with us. They must be destroyed." She accepted her sword back from Dean and crawled into the back seat of the Impala. Dean snatched the chains from the ground and threw them into the trunk. When he got into the driver's seat, Sam was waiting for them. Amitiel was hunched over, her hands still tucked against her sides.

"Let me see your hands," Sam ordered, twisting sideways and reaching back for her. She extended them without word, displaying red and blistered palms.

"The chains," she explained. "Weapons designed to harm angels."

"Could one kill you?" Dean demanded.

She hesitated. "I do not know," she said at length. She looked down at where her hands were dwarfed by Sam's gigantic palms. "They have Castiel. They will come for me, next."

"They won't get you," Dean said firmly. "Not gonna let that happen."

The angel shuddered and pulled her hands away from Sam's grasp. "We have to find him soon. They'll keep him alive for now, but we don't have much time. Demons are not known for their patience."

"Right. We need to find somewhere safe to lay low while we figure out where they took him," Dean said, nodding his head. He kept an eye on the rear view mirror, watching for sirens.

"They took him to Detroit," Amitiel said softly, rubbing her thumbs across her fingertips. Dean and Sam both stared at her.

"What?" Sam demanded.

"The door to Belial's prison is in Detroit. That is where they'll take him," Amitiel said again.

An uncomfortable silence fell within the Impala. "You know it's probably a trap," Sam pointed out.

"Undoubtedly," Amitiel replied flatly.

Dean pressed his lips together. "It's Cas," he said simply.

And that was all that needed to be said.


	4. Chapter 4

Sam knew the instant Amitiel retreated and allowed Mal to retake control. The girl gasped and started to shake, screwing her eyes tightly shut and rocking back and forth, struggling not to hyperventilate.

"Mal?" he asked gently. "Mal, you okay?"

"Gimme a minute," she muttered tightly. She kept rocking for a moment, and then finally opened her eyes. They were light gray, total opposite of Amitiel's storm-dark gaze. "We're really up a creek, aren't we?" she asked bleakly.

"No one's gonna get sacrificed, hear me?" Dean growled. "It's eight hours to Detroit. We can make it in six. Is Ami up for tracking the demons down when we get there?"

The girl closed her eyes briefly, and then nodded. "She says she thinks she can, if she rests from now until then. Ow!" She hissed in pain and looked down at her hands. "I'm just not getting a break, am I?" she asked plaintively.

"I think the first aid kit is still under the seat," Sam told her. She shook her head at him and glared at her blistered palms for a long moment. The scorched, angry flesh began to fade and smooth until there was only a slight redness and swelling. Then she collapsed against the seat again, panting. A thin trickle of blood ran from her nose and she wiped it off onto her jacket sleeve.

"God, this sucks," she muttered, and then laughed humorlessly. She clawed one hand through her pale hair. "You know, two weeks ago the only thing I worried about was midterms and whether or not my boyfriend was gonna break up with me." She laughed again, this time sounding a little manic. "Now I've got angels and demons and whatever the hell you two are and, oh yeah, the Apocalypse!" Her voice had gradually risen in pitch during her speech until it was little more than a dry squeak at the last word.

Dean stared straight ahead, jaw clenched tight. Sam looked everywhere except Mallory, big hands clenching and opening in his lap. Mal slumped against the seat, hitting her head gently against the headrest a couple of times. Then she sighed.

"How do we stop it?" she asked suddenly.

Sam blinked. "What?" he asked ingeniously. He twisted to stare at Mal, who only gazed evenly back at him, her face tight but her eyes steady.

"How do we stop the Apocalypse?" she asked again.

"Oho, there's no 'we' about it," Dean jumped in. "You aren't getting involved."

Mal laughed again, a dry, grim chuckle. "I'm already involved, Dean," she said wearily. "I've got a fallen angel in my head and she's not going anywhere anytime soon. And when she is conscious, the only thing going through her mind is 'help Castiel, help Castiel.'"

"Seriously?" Dean asked, briefly distracted. Mal shrugged.

"He's her brother," she said simply. "But the point is, I'm in this. And I figure the sooner we do something about it, the sooner I can get back to my life. So. What happens next?"

Dean tightened his grip on the steering wheel, his knuckles standing out bone-white. "Right now we rescue Cas. Then we figure out the Apocalypse. One thing at a time, sweetheart."

"In the meantime," Sam cut in. "What can you tell us about Belial? What are we gonna be up against?"

She rubbed the side of her nose. "He's not technically a demon," she said with an odd expression. "He's one of the angels who fell with Lucifer during the First War. Twisted and burned into something demonic, but not one of Lucifer's creations. He's considered the lord of strife and pride and a master of manipulation." Mal seemed to struggle for a moment. "His followers are fanatically loyal. They'd die rather than betray their master. I don't think they'll cut and run in the face of a show of strength."

"Great," Dean muttered.

Mal struggled for a moment longer before abruptly going limp. "That's everything Ami could give me. She's exhausted. If she's going to useful at all when we get to Detroit, she needs to rest."

"Okay, just take it easy," Sam said quickly. "Get some sleep or something. We'll wake you up when we get there."

The girl nodded and stretched out over the backseat, her eyes drifting closed almost immediately.

XxxXxxX

_The universe was burning._

_Blood-red light glinted off swords and armor as winged shapes swooped and tumbled through the smoke. Here and there, an explosion of bright, pure light cut through the ruddy flames. Struggling figures collided in mid-air, cutting, ripping, and tearing._

_She folded her wings and threw herself into a spiraling dive, gathering momentum into force as she barreled into her enemy, throwing him off her brother. For a moment they tumbled through space, locked together, neither able to reach their weapons. Then her foe managed to free his sword. There was no room to maneuver, entangled as they were, so she made no effort to dodge the blow. Pain seared through her ribs as the blade drove home. She manifested her own sword and plunged it into her opponent's bicep, forcing him to release his weapon. She pulled away, blade still in her side._

_With a low cry of pain, she pulled it out and tossed it away. It spun end over end, flinging drops of blood from its point as it fell. She pumped her wings, driving forward once more. Her enemy kept the strike from landing in his heart, but instead she smote his wing, slicing it nearly from his shoulder. The enemy screamed, long and loud and terrible as he fell, swallowed by the darkness below._

_She hung her head and wept for another fallen sibling._

Mallory tore herself free with a gasp. Or, she tried to gasp. Her breath continued to come in even drafts, in and out through her nose. Her limbs stayed where they were when she she tried to move, and her eyelids remained stubbornly closed. Mallory reacted the way any normal human would. She freaked.

"_Mallory. Mallory! Please, calm down."_ It was slightly creepy how Amitiel's voice sounded just like her own, even on the inside. Okay, she'll admit it; it was a lot creepy.

_Ami?_ Mallory panted. _What...what was that?_

"_I am sorry. I never intended for you to see that memory."_

Mallory recoiled. _That was real?_ she demanded in horror. She could feel Ami stir slightly, not physically, but that indescribable sensation of having one of the most powerful beings in existence trapped in your skull.

"_Yes,"_ Amitiel said at length. _"That was real. It...occurred during the First War."_

_When Lucifer rebelled,_ Mallory clarified.

"_Yes,"_ the angel said again.

Mallory had another quiet freak-out.

"_Mallory, please. I need you to remain calm. I cannot focus when you are in this state."_

The girl struggled to calm down. It felt incredibly weird to be as keyed-up as she was and not have her heart race. It beat away steadily in her chest, pulsing gently in her ears. Amitiel continued to breathe for the both of them, in and out. It helped.

_You..._she began. _They were your brothers and sisters...and you had to..._ If she had been in control, she would have started crying.

Amitiel didn't reply for a very long time. _"I do not wish to talk about it,"_ she said at long last. Mallory wanted to shiver at the coldness of her tone. Then, much more gently, the angel said, _"Go back to sleep, Mallory. I will guard your dreams more closely this time."_

Mallory didn't seem to have a choice. A few seconds later, and she was unconscious again.

XxxXxxX

_There was rejoicing in Heaven. Thousands upon thousands of voices rang out in flawless harmonies, newborn angels praising their Father. The air was filled with light and wings as the new creations explored their home._

_She tumbled into him with a laugh as bright and clear as crystal bells. For a moment they danced together, wild and whirling, wings sweeping out around them. Everything was new, fascinating, perfect. He was full of song and worship, and she was just as beautiful as him. Everything was beautiful._

_They stopped dancing long enough to laugh together, loud and breathlessly, clinging to each other in ecstasy. They grinned at each other, still embracing. She spoke first._

"_My name is Amitiel!" she told him enthusiastically._

"_I am Castiel," he replied, matching her tone._

_She grinned wider. "It's good to meet you, brother."_

Castiel did not want to regain consciousness. It was not a pleasant experience and he hoped he would not have to repeat it anytime soon. The pain registered almost immediately. He didn't move, not wanting to exacerbate the wounds. He was more-or-less upright, his back against a flat surface. His arms were stretched above his head and bound with cold metal. He could barely touch the ground with the toes of his shoes.

The muscles of his arms and shoulders burned uncomfortably, but it was the pain in his side he was most concerned about. His shirt was wet and clung to his skin. With great reluctance, Castiel opened his eyes.

There were no lights, and no windows, but the darkness didn't hinder him. The room was dark, small, and smelled of gasoline and urine. There was little in it besides Castiel himself and a stool in front of the metal door. Seated on the stool was a demon.

Its host was a man, big and brawny with a shaved head and a dark goatee. Tattoo sleeves covered both arms, which were currently crossed over his chest. Solid black eyes stared unblinkingly at Castiel. The angel met the demon's gaze flatly, forcing the creature to look away. Castiel shifted and gritted his teeth as a fresh jolt of pain stabbed up his side. He looked down.

His coat and suit jacket were gone. His shirt was torn and stained deep red, a particularly large and wet patch over his left side. In the center of the stain protruded the blunt end of a metal spike, carved with anti-angel wards.

That was why he was powerless. That was why he could not control the pain, or break free of his bonds. Why his wings hung limp and useless at his back. He tried to draw in a deep breath. It felt like inhaling fire.

The demon uncrossed his arms and reached backward to pound twice on the door. There came the sound of multiple locks, and the door opened a crack. "He's awake," the demon announced in a rumbling basso. The door closed and locked again. The demon went back to staring at Castiel.

Castiel hung from the chains binding his arms, weak, helpless, and barely able to breath past the spike impaling his lung. He wondered what Dean would say if he was here. Oh, yes. Probably something along the lines of, _we're so screwed._

Castiel couldn't help agreeing.


	5. Chapter 5

Castiel tensed when he heard the locks of his prison door turning. His burly guard rose to his feet and backed away from the door as it swung open. The bare bulb overhead flicked on, and another demon stepped through the door.

"Ah, Castiel," the demon purred. She prowled across the small cell to stand in front of the bound angel. "It's been so long. Do you still remember me?"

Castiel summoned the strength to glare at her. "Marax," he growled.

She smiled, a feral baring of teeth, and placed a hand over her chest. "Oh, he _does_ remember me. I must have made quite the impression." Marax took a step closer, her eyes darting across Castiel's many wounds. Her smile grew. "I see you've been tenderized in preparation. Good."

Before Castiel could brace himself, her hand darted out and twisted the spike in his side. He couldn't stop the low cry that escaped his lips before gritting his teeth. Marax ran her wet, red tongue over her lower lip, enjoying his pain.

"We have to save you for later," she said with a note of regret. "But there's no harm in working up an appetite." She snapped her fingers, and the guard demon lumbered out of the cell, only to return a moment later with a covered tray. He set it on the stool and left again, swinging the door shut. Marax pulled the cloth from the tray with a flourish. She carefully chose her tool: a wicked-looking metal hook with a razor point.

Castiel forced his face to remain impassive despite the crawling feeling in his gut. He leaned as far away from the demon as the chains and the wall allowed, his breath coming in fast, shallow gasps. Marax stared at him from the corner of her eyes that were suddenly inky-black.

"After all," she continued throatily. "Your sister will need to know where to find you." She stepped toward the angel, raising the hook menacingly. "Let's get started."

XxxXxxX

"...Police investigation led them to the home of Eddie Kruger, who was found in his basement, dead from apparent blunt force trauma. There is still no sign of Congressman Graves' daughter..."

The news anchor continued to drone on in the background of the bar, ignored by the three figures huddled in one corner. Dean and Sam positioned themselves to block the girl from the view of the other patrons. She was hunched over, elbows on knees and fingers pressed to temples, rocking back and forth with her eyes screwed tightly shut. A map of Detroit was spread out on the table in front of them.

"Dude, what are we even doing here?" Sam hissed at his brother.

"She lost the trail somewhere around here," Dean growled. "She needed a place to recuperate."

"And you picked a _bar_?" Sam demanded.

"It was closest. Shut up."

The girl's eyes flew open and she fixed her gaze on Sam without taking her hands down. "Sam. Did you find anything?"

He shook his head. "No. There's no demonic sings anywhere in the area. They're covering their tracks pretty well."

Amitiel frowned. "I don't understand. I would think they would attempt to lure me into some sort of trap."

"That would make sense," Sam agreed. "I mean, after all, they need you, too."

The angel straightened, a frown still creasing her brow. She raked her gaze over the map of the city. "He is somewhere nearby, I can feel it. But his presence is blurred, unfocused." She shook her head with a quiet growl. "Before I fell I knew the exact location of every one of my brothers and sisters. Now I cannot even find the one I love most."

Dean looked like he wanted to comment on that, but Sam dug his elbow into Dean's ribs with a forbidding expression. Amitiel circled an area on the map with her finger. "This is the area we must search. It will be underground, dark. Probably abandoned by humans."

Sam leaned forward. "That's about three miles square. It'll take us hours."

"We'll have to split up," Dean decided. "Sam, you take the north half and Ami and I'll take the southern half."

The taller Winchester nodded reluctantly. "Fine. But call me before you do anything stupid." The three of them got to their feet and headed for the door, Sam still attempting to shield Amitiel from view. The angel suddenly stiffened, her eyes widening as her expression froze.

"Amitiel?" Sam asked, laying a hand on her shoulder. "Ami, what is it?"

"Castiel," she gasped. "Oh, my brother. What are they doing to you?"

"Ami!" Sam said sharply, giving her a little shake. "What's going on?"

She swayed and grabbed Sam's jacket to steady herself. "Pain," she whispered brokenly. "Pain...they're torturing him!"

"Are you sure?" Dean demanded, grabbing her elbow and maneuvering her towards the door.

"Pain sharpens...the presence," Amitiel struggled to speak. "They're hurting him...to lead me to him... We...have to hurry."

They made it to the street and Amitiel seemed to regain her balance. Her head snapped around to the right. "This way," she said, and took off at a run. Sam and Dean ran after her, Sam catching her first.

"Ami, wait," he called, grabbing her arm. "We can't just run into this blind. We need a plan."

She slowed but didn't stop. "Talk quickly," she ordered. Sam cast a glance at Dean.

"All right. I have an idea."

XxxXxxX

Jimmy woke up screaming. Castiel had done his best to shield his host, but the weaker he became, the less control he had over his vessel. He gave a choked cry as Marax tore the hook free from his flesh and stepped back, a smug expression on her face. Castiel hung limp against the chains, fighting for each breath. He choked again and coughed, trying to clear the blood that clogged his throat. It dripped over his lower lip and ran down his chin.

Jimmy was still screaming, in a complete panic. The pain was bad for Castiel; it must be excruciating for the human. Castiel expended a tiny amount of his Grace to try to block some of the pain. _"Jimmy. Jimmy. It's all right. I am here."_

_Castiel? Oh, my God, Castiel, what the hell is going on?_

Castiel coughed again, bringing up more blood. _"I fear I have been captured."_

Jimmy was silent for a couple of heartbeats. _It hurts,_ he finally said. _God, we're being _tortured_!_

Castiel didn't reply as he fought to gather a bit more Grace to shield Jimmy, but the spike still in his side made it next to impossible to access his power. Marax fingered her implements lovingly, picking up first one and then another as she tried to decide which one to use next. _"Jimmy, I need you to remain calm."_

_Calm? _Calm_? How the hell am I supposed to be _calm_?_

Each breath brought more blood into Castiel's mouth. Marax settled on something that vaguely resembled a corkscrew and approached Castiel again. He shut his eyes so Jimmy wouldn't see it coming. He couldn't, however, contain the groan as he felt the object pierce his skin. He clenched his jaw in order to contain any further noise.

"_I cannot retain control while you are panicking,"_ he told Jimmy, trying to focus on his host in order to keep his mind from the pain. _"I need you to help me remain strong. Dean and Sam will come for us. Until then we must stay strong. I need your help, Jimmy."_

That shocked Jimmy into silence again. _I...I'll try._

"Thank you," Castiel murmured, not realizing he said it out loud until he felt Marax pause.

"What's that, angel?" she asked with a smirk in her voice. Castiel opened his eyes. "Are you enjoying this?" the demon went on. "Why, you kinky son of a bitch."

"Go to hell," he rasped. Marax leered at him.

"Not the first time I've heard that, angelcakes," she said. With a twist of her wrist, she drove the screw in further. Castiel gasped and then choked.

_Cas?_ Jimmy's voice was uncertain, tremulous. _Cas, I'm here. We're gonna be okay, right?_

"_Yes,"_ Castiel grunted. _"We will be._ _We must be."_

Jimmy suddenly surged to the forefront, taking the brunt of the pain. Castiel hissed in surprise as he was unceremoniously shoved to the back of Jimmy's mind. He had no idea his host could do that.

_You're weak,_ Jimmy said, straining with effort. _It's my turn._

"_Jimmy..."_ Castiel tried to argue, but his host wasn't listening. He was thinking steadfastly of Claire. Castiel remembered Claire. He remembered her incredible bravery, her willingness to do anything, anything at all, to save her parents. He had been with her only moments, but he would forever care for her. Understanding what Jimmy was trying to do, Castiel poured his memories of his host's daughter into Jimmy's mind to help distract them both from the pain. Jimmy clung to them like a lifeline.

A fist pounded heavily on the metal door and Marax ceased her activities with an annoyed look on her face. With a growl, she flung the bloody corkscrew onto the tray and stalked out of the cell. Jimmy/Castiel went limp with relief.

_Oh, thank God,_ Jimmy gasped.

"_Something is happening,"_ Castiel said, straining to hear beyond the metal door.

_D'you think...Sam and Dean?_ Jimmy asked hopefully.

"_Perhaps. I hope they know it's a trap."_ Castiel nudged Jimmy until the human receded, allowing Castiel to again take control. By now they were sharing the pain from their injuries equally, leaning against each other for support. Castiel extended his senses as far as the spike would allow.

He heard a distant sound that might have been a gunshot, followed by a sharp scream cut short. Then the rusted pipes of the sprinkler system overhead wheezed, groaned, and began spraying water. As it washed over Castiel, trickling through his hair and soaking into his clothes, he knew it was holy water.

More screams came from the other side of the door. Jimmy was becoming frantic. _What's going on?_ he demanded. _What the hell is happening out there?_

"_I don't know,"_ Castiel replied. The locks turned and the door slammed open. The light from the outside cast the figure standing there in dark shadow, but the shape of wings rising from the shoulders were unmistakable.

"Amitiel," Castiel breathed.

She hurried to his side, reaching up for the manacles around his wrists. She easily forced them open and caught Castiel as he collapsed into her arms, easing them both to the ground. She ran her hands over his hair and then down his side, freezing when she felt the end of the spike.

"Brace yourself," she warned, and then grasped the end of it. She pulled it out in a quick, smooth movement, but that didn't stop it from hurting.

_Son of a _bitch_!_ Jimmy yelled in Castiel's head. Castiel grunted in reply. Amitiel tried to haul her brother to his feet.

"We don't have much time. Dean and Sam are distracting the demons. We have to leave, now." She maneuvered herself under one of Castiel's arms and staggered to her feet, dragging him up with her. He couldn't seem to get his legs to work, forced to put most of his weight on his sister.

"How..." Castiel began, and then coughed, spraying the side of Amitiel's face with droplets of blood. "How did you get past the guards?"

"They simply walked up to the front door," Amitiel replied. "I came in through the back."

She half-carried, half-dragged him out of the cell and Castiel discovered they were in some sort of factory, long ago abandoned. The sounds of battle were closer now, and louder. Castiel could hear Dean's and Sam's voices rising above the clamor.

Amitiel headed in the opposite direction as the struggle, keeping to the shadows as she led the other angel through the building. Jimmy kept up a stream of encouragement, babbling in panic and relief. Castiel focused on his voice.

Castiel could see the exterior door when Amitiel swore under her breath in Enochian. He swung his head around to find the source of her ire. Marax stood between them and freedom, a black chain swinging from one hand.

"Oh, you thought it was going to be that easy, did you?" she taunted, stepping closer. "You just played right into my hands. Now I have both of you and soon my master will walk free."

Amitiel leaned her head sideways until it rested against Castiel's. "Brother, on my signal," she whispered in Enochian. He felt her wings, torn and broken, stretch to their fullest span. He strained to open his own wings, thankfully untouched by Marax's tortures.

The demon prowled closer, whirring the chain through the air. Her expression was triumphant. Amitiel edged backwards, nearly causing Castiel to stumble. Marax came closer, even closer, until the chain whipped only inches from the two angels.

"Now!" Amitiel yelled, and they both swept their wings down as hard as they could.

They landed in the backseat of the Impala, a heap of wings and limbs and bloody clothing. Castiel tried to move, tried to disentangle himself from his sister, but he found himself unable to control his vessel. Amitiel lay absolutely still, her eyes closed and her breath coming in shallow flutters. She had expended too much of her injured Grace.

How long they lay there, Castiel had no idea, but he was grateful for the silence, the lack of pain, and the feeling of safety, however ephemeral it may have been. Jimmy had slid back into unconsciousness, leaving Castiel strangely lonely.

The driver's side door was yanked open and Castiel tensed. But it was only Dean, who flung himself into the car and cranked the ignition. Sam tumbled int a moment later, and Dean mashed the gas before Sam had even closed the door. Sam twisted to check on the angels in the back seat.

"Cas, you okay?" he demanded.

"Not really," Castiel replied, and surrendered to the darkness.

XxxXxxX

They chose the motel solely on the basis of its proximity. Dean came back from paying for a room, thankful for the cover of darkness when he reached the Impala. He swung open the back door and peered in at the angels. Castiel and Amitiel were still curled up together, Amitiel gripping double fistfuls of Cas' bloody shirt. He sighed. "I got Cas, man," he told Sam. "You bring Ami in."

They carefully disentangled the two, and Castiel roused himself enough to get unsteadily to his feet, leaning heavily on Dean as they staggered into the motel room. Dean eased Castiel down on one bed as Sam gently lay Amitiel on the other. She didn't react, laying as limp and flaccid as only someone truly comatose could achieve.

Castiel didn't protest when Dean began undoing his shirt, carefully sliding his arms out of the blood-caked material. "Damn," Dean breathed when he saw the hole in Castiel's side. It had stopped bleeding almost as soon as the spike was removed, allowing Castiel's angelic healing to begin, but it was still deep and open. Dean pressed his fingertip against the injury and waited for Castiel to draw in a breath.

"It's not sucking," he told Sam with relief. "Get me some bandages and water. We gotta patch him up fast."

Dean had to cut the t-shirt away from Castiel's chest. The angel watched with blank eyes as Dean carefully sponged the blood away from his abdomen. Dean cursed under his breath, a constant stream of blasphemy as Castiel's multiple wounds became apparent.

"I'm gonna find the son of a bitch and rip his lungs out!" Dean growled angrily. "He is dead. _So_ dead."

Castiel only blinked, finding words too difficult. Sam came over from checking on Amitiel, carrying handfuls of bandages, tape, and gauze.

"This is all we have," he told Dean, setting it on the bed beside Castiel. Dean looked it over with a critical eye.

"We're gonna need more."

Sam was reaching for the keys when the door burst open and police officers poured into the room.

XXXXX

A/N: For anyone who cares, I have cast AnnaSophia Robb as Amitiel and Eliza Dushku as Marax.


	6. Chapter 6

Detective Sarah Rhodes strode into the interrogation room and took a seat without looking at the room's single occupant. She placed her folder onto the table and opened it up, laying out several photos. Then she finally folded her hands atop the table and looked up at the man seated across from her. He was slouched in his chair, staring at her with hostile green eyes. He was handcuffed to the table, hands resting in his lap. He had yet to speak a word.

"The charges against you are multiple counts of kidnapping and assault," Sarah began bluntly. "You're looking at twenty to life." He didn't react. "I suggest you talk to us; you'll only make it worse for yourself."

The man shifted. They hadn't even gotten his name out of him. He had been carrying two credit cards with two different names and three fake IDs. A search of the man's partner had yielded similar results. Sarah leaned towards him.

"This is your only chance to tell us what the hell is going on," she told him in a dangerous tone. "Because the police come into your motel room, find a kidnapped girl and a seriously injured man, it's not looking too good for you. Especially when that girl is the daughter of a congressman."

His eyebrows twitched, an expression halfway between pissed and surprised crossing his face.

"What, didn't you know?" Sarah taunted. "And the condition of that man. It would take a sick, twisted mind to do that kind of thing to another human being. The doctors are saying we might have to add murder charges to the rest."

He abruptly straightened, lunging as far forward as he could go, his eyes wide and intense. "No," he growled quietly. "No, he's not gonna die. He _can't._ I won't let him, you hear me?"

Sarah studied him for a moment. There was fear in those eyes. Not because he was handcuffed to a table in Detroit's police headquarters, but because she had said that the man might die. She spun a photo around and shoved it towards him. "Look," she ordered. He didn't. "_Look_," she repeated firmly. He finally did. It was of the injured man's torso, covered in bruises, cuts, abrasions, and punctures.

He flinched, raw pain in his face. "Aw, hell," he said hoarsely. He stared at the photo for a long moment before meeting Sarah's gaze again. "I didn't do that to him," he said flatly. "And I didn't kidnap Mallory. You can ask her. She'll tell you."

"She won't be telling us anything," Sarah snapped at him. "She's in a coma."

He flinched again. "Look, lady," he growled at her. "I didn't hurt them. I would never."

"Then tell us what happened," Sarah challenged. He leaned back again, slouching into his leather jacket.

"Can't," he replied sullenly.

"You can't, or you won't?" Sarah shot back.

The man considered her for a moment. "Can't," he said again. His gaze darted towards the door. "I'm done."

And he was. He stubbornly refused to answer any more of her questions until she finally gathered her file back up and left the room, closing the door a little harder than necessary. Rick was waiting for her. "Anything from the other guy?" she asked, leaning against the wall with a sigh.

He shook his head. "They didn't kidnap Graves, and they didn't hurt John Doe. Nothing else."

"Yeah, same here," she said wearily. "So I'm assuming they haven't identified the second victim."

"His fingerprints weren't in the system," Rick replied. "They're running his photo, seeing if anything will come up with that. I'm not holding my breath."

"Are they still denying any connection to Kruger?" Sarah asked, pushing away from the wall and heading back to the bull pen.

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean anything. The three of them could have been in it together, then offed Kruger and took off with the girl."

"And John Doe?" Sarah asked with a raised eyebrow.

Rick shrugged. "They picked up another victim on the way? I don't know, Sarah. None of this makes any sense, and the only leads we have are still unconscious."

She stopped at her desk and threw the file down atop the already precarious stack of paperwork. She picked up a half-full mug of coffee and sniffed it before putting it back with a disgusted expression. "Okay, so our suspects aren't talking, the vics are comatose, and we've got a week-old body in the morgue. We're gonna have to go back to the evidence and see if we missed anything."

Rick sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "That's just it. There is no evidence that there was anyone else besides Graves and Kruger in Kruger's house. If these two guys were there, they had to have been invisible or something."

"Sarah, Rick!" Tommy jogged over to them, a piece of paper in hand. "You're never gonna believe this. That John Doe, we came up with a possible match. James Novak from Pontiak, Illinois. Get this, he was reported missing just over a year ago but about six weeks back his wife asked the police to drop the case. Said she knew where her husband was and there was no point looking anymore." He shoved the paper at Sarah, who took it eagerly.

The photo in the corner of the page definitely resembled the male victim. She scanned the rest of the data but Tommy had basically summarized everything. "So...what? Guy walks out on his family, no contact for a year, then gets in touch and wants a divorce?" she guessed.

Tommy shook his head. "Neither of them have filed," he told her. "The wife just wanted the case dropped."

Sarah rubbed her forehead with the back of her wrist. "Okay. We'll give her a call and see if she can shed any light on the situation. She should know about her husband's condition in any case. Thanks, Tommy."

Rick put down the phone at his own desk and turned to face her. "Graves' parents just landed at the airport," he reported.

"All right," she replied, reaching for her jacket. "We can meet them at the hospital."

XxxXxxX

_Pain sorrow anger. A city burning, running, a child in her arms. Battle, voices screaming, swords, blood, explosions. Betrayal. Brother against brother. Death. Darkness. Eyes. Red, black, yellow, white. Chains. Pain. Sky full of wings. Storms, thunder lightening rain. Shadows reaching, tearing ripping shredding. Songs. Light, pure bright blinding. Voices, thousands upon thousands singing. Harmonies turning to war cries. Sorrow. Tears._

Mallory woke up screaming.

There were two nurses holding her down before she even opened her eyes but she still fought them wildly, yelling at the top of her lungs. The images were still sharp in her mind, the pain still singing along her nerves. She saw a third nurse approach with a needle and tried to knock it out of the man's hands. He successfully injected it into her IV and she felt the heaviness steal over her limbs.

"No," she whispered. "No. I have to...I have to..." Her words trailed off into a mumble as her train of thought vanished. She couldn't remember what she had to do. The world had suddenly grown fluffy, the pain disappearing off into the fuzzy distance. The drugs buzzed pleasantly in her brain.

"Mal? Honey?"

She dragged her gaze left and made a valiant effort to focus on the woman hovering over the bed. She smiled weakly. "Hey, Mom," she slurred. "What're you doin' here?"

Irene Graves mustered a smile in reply and patted Mal's hand. "It's all right, honey. I'm right here. You're safe now. It's all over."

Safe. Over. The words clonked against something in Mallory's head, setting off a very slow chain of thoughts. "No," she told her mother gravely. "Not safe. They're gonna come back f'r me. F'r us. S'not over."

Irene shook her head. "No one's coming for you, Mallory. We've got police protection on the hospital. You're safe. Everything's going to be okay."

Mal frowned. "S'not okay," she insisted. "We're in danger, me n' Cas...Cas..." she gave up on trying to pronounce the name. "Where's Sam 'n Dean?" she asked petulantly. "They're s'pposed t' keep me safe."

Her mother wouldn't stop patting her hand. "Go back to sleep, Mal," she said gently. "You need to rest. Go back to sleep."

Mallory was getting frustrated. Why wasn't her mother _listening_ to her? She pulled her hand away from Irene and slowly gained an upright position, smacking away Irene's hand when the older woman tried to push her down.

"Where's Sam 'n Dean?" Mal demanded, her brow furrowed with the effort to concentrate through the sedative. "Where's Cas? Gotta find Cas. Gotta make sure he's okay."

Irene placed her hands on Mallory's shoulders. "Mal, listen to me. You've just been rescued after being kidnapped for two weeks. I know you're confused, but you need to get some rest. I promise everything will make sense when you wake up."

"Two weeks... tha's not right," Mal said, blinking hard. Damn, what had they given her? "Got outta the basement three, mebbe four days. Walkin'. Walkin' the rest. Had to find Sam 'n Dean. Message f'r Cas..." She rubbed her forehead. It was so hard to remember. "Ami," she mumbled. "Ami got me out. Wha's wrong wi' Ami? She's not talkin' to me. Ami? Ami, you gotta wake up."

The nurse was coming back, another needle in hand. Mallory didn't like that. She didn't want any more drugs. She slouched against the pillow, letting her eyes drift closed as if she had finally fell asleep.

"Is there something wrong with my daughter?" she heard Irene demand.

"Your daughter was in a coma for over twenty-four hours. It's understandable that she is disoriented on waking up."

"But those people she kept mentioning, Cas and Sam and the others. What about them?"

"Many people in comas have extremely vivid dreams. She could simply be remembering people she created in her own mind. Your daughter is going to be fine, Mrs. Graves. She just needs some time."

The nurse finally left and Irene took a seat next to the bed. Mallory remained still. It wasn't that she wasn't happy to see her mom—she was. She really was. But there was something big and bad coming for her (wasn't there? Ugh, she couldn't remember...) and she didn't want her mom to get hurt.

_Ami?_ She called in the safety of her own head. _Ami, wake up. I need you._ She searched deeper inside her, still fighting the effects of the drugs, until she found the angel, curled up in a distant corner, weak and dim. Mal poked her. There was no reaction. Mal poked again, harder this time. The angel's consciousness stirred faintly. Mal jabbed her, hard.

"_Wha—? Mallory? What?"_ Amitiel muttered in confusion. Then she bolted upright. Metaphorically speaking, that is. _"Castiel!"_

_Drugs first,_ Mallory slurred in annoyance.

"_What?"_

_Get rid of the drugs. I don't like them._

It took a moment before the drug-induced haze began to recede and the world came back into focus. The pain returned, but Mal had become desensitized to it over the last couple of weeks. _My mom's here,_ she told the angel. Amitiel shifted.

"_I don't understand the significance,"_ she began.

_I don't want my mom knowing about you,_ Mallory told her bluntly. _She doesn't need to get dragged into this crap._

"_I see. Very well."_

Amitiel gathered her strength, slipped into control, and opened her eyes. Irene was staring out the window, one hand resting on Amitiel's arm. The angel sat up, lifting her hand in a smooth gesture. Before Irene could react, Amitiel pressed her first and second fingers against the woman's forehead. Irene's eyes rolled backwards and she slumped into her chair, fast asleep. Even the tiny bit of power needed to neutralize Irene sent Amitiel collapsing back into Mallory's mind in exhaustion. Mallory took command without missing a beat. She disconnected her IV without removing the needle and climbed out of bed.

Her feet made no noise as she padded down the hospital corridors. Thankfully, she had been dressed in a white t-shirt and a pair of blue scrub pants. Carefully dodging nurses, doctors, and on one occasion a pair of suits, she finally made it to the stairwell. Amitiel's senses were drawing her downstairs, and she followed them to a room on the next floor down. She pushed the door open and slipped through.

There was a man on the bed, his head turned toward her, but his eyes were closed. He looked to be in his thirties, with messy dark hair and craggy features. Mallory stepped closer, unable to take her eyes off his face. This was the first time she had actually seen the vessel of Amitiel's brother.

She walked over to the bedside, glancing at the various machines he was hooked up to and dredging up two years worth of nursing school. From what she could tell, it didn't look good. Mallory felt Ami pressing against her as she leaned over the bed. Her hand lifted of its own accord and brushed over the man's cheek.

He hissed in a sudden breath, startling Mallory enough to lose her balance. She had to catch the railing to keep from falling. Sapphire-blue eyes snapped open and attempted to focus on her face, but she could see the influence of drugs in the indigo depths.

"Am...itiel?" he whispered hoarsely. "Sister?"

"She's in here," Mallory told him, shifting awkwardly. "I'm Mallory." He blinked at her. She smiled at him a little hesitantly. "How—how are you feeling? You were pretty banged up."

"I...will recover," he rasped. "My sister..?"

Mallory relinquished control as Amitiel gathered the strength to rise to the forefront. The angel touched her brother's cheek. "I am here, Castiel," she said softly. "Are you in pain?"

"No," he replied. "They gave me something...morphine."

Mallory provided an explanation without Amitiel having to ask. Amitiel nodded and held her hand over Castiel's chest. "You are healing slower than I would like," she told him.

"The fall," he replied. Amitiel pressed her lips together.

"Marax will make another attempt to capture us," she told her brother. "We may not have much time."

Castiel blinked again. "Dean...Sam..." he wheezed. "They were taken away."

"I will look into it," Amitiel promised, laying a slender hand on Castiel's shoulder. "Rest while you can, brother. We must return to battle soon."

He nodded fractionally and allowed his eyes to flutter closed again. Mallory fluttered anxiously at the back of Amitiel's mind.

_Sam and Dean were taken away?_ She demanded shrilly. _Oh, my God, Mom talked about police protection. They've been arrested! God, I can only imagine what they must have thought, finding us. How did they even find us, though? We'd only just got back into Detroit!_

"_Mallory, calm down,"_ Amitiel ordered. _"And stop taking my Father's name in vain."_

Mallory instantly subsided. _Oh. Sorry._ Footsteps behind her made Amitiel turn sharply, but she didn't move from her brother's side. A woman stood in the doorway, several inches taller than Amitiel's current host and at least a decade older. Her short hair was dark red and she had hazel eyes under suspicious brows.

"Ms. Graves?" she asked. "What are you doing here? You should still be in bed."

Amitiel didn't move. "Who are you?" she demanded.

"Detective Sarah Rhodes," the woman introduced, stepping into the room. "I'm in charge of your case."

The angel stared unblinkingly up at the woman. Before Amitiel could speak, Mallory poked her again. _Maybe I should handle this,_ she suggested tactfully. _I have a little more experience dealing with humans. No offense._

"_Of course,"_ Amitiel agreed, receding. The girl swayed slightly during the transition, grabbing hold of the bed railing again. When Detective Rhodes reached for her, Mallory raised a hand.

"I'm fine," she said quickly. "I'm okay. I just...I needed to see how Cas was doing."

"Cas?" Rhodes asked quizzically, glancing at the unconscious man behind Mallory. "You mean James Novak?"

Mallory blinked. So that was what Castiel's vessel was called. "Yeah. It's...uh, it's a nickname. Cas. I wanted to make sure he was okay."

Rhodes reached for the assistance button. "I'm going to have someone take you back to your room, Ms. Graves. You shouldn't be up."

"I said I was fine," Mallory replied testily. Rhodes gestured toward the room's only chair.

"Still, why don't you have a seat. Are you up for answering a few questions?"

Mallory gingerly sat down and swallowed nervously. Inside her, Amitiel was quiet, offering no help other than moral support. "I...guess," she said hesitantly.

Rhodes crouched in front of her. "I know it must be hard," she said sympathetically. "What you went through is incredibly traumatizing. But I do need you to tell me what happened."

Mal looked at her hands, clenched in her lap. She looked over at Castiel and suddenly wished he were awake again. "I...I don't know where to start," she whispered. She really wanted to be anywhere else except right here.

"How about two weeks ago, when you first disappeared," Rhodes encouraged. Mal relaxed. That was easy.

"I was heading to my next class. This guy came up from behind me and shoved this cloth over my face. I think it was chloroform or something because I passed out pretty quickly." Part of Mallory was laughing hysterically at the thought that recounting her kidnapping was the easiest thing she had to talk about. Amitiel eyed that part of her warily and moved somewhere more comfortable.

"He kept me in his basement for three or four days," Mallory went on, strengthened by Amitiel's warm presence. "I..." her throat closed up suddenly and she lost her words. "I—" she began again. Amitiel curled up around her, saying nothing but radiating concern and empathy. "He hurt me," Mallory whispered finally.

Rhodes reached out and lay a warm hand on Mallory's arm. "It's okay, Mallory. Take your time. It's okay."

Mallory took a shaky breath and forced herself to stop tearing up. "I got away," she whispered. Rhodes nodded.

"Okay, thank you, Mallory. Now, I need you to tell me about the two men we found you with. What did they do to you?"

She shot bolt upright. "What?" she demanded in disbelief. "No! They never did anything to me! They saved my life!" The force of her words made Rhodes rock back on her heels, but Mal could see she hadn't convinced the detective. "They would never hurt me," she insisted. "Not ever. They kept me safe, after..." She trailed off, hesitant to say any more. "They're good people," she finished quietly. "They're my friends."

Rhodes nodded skeptically. "If they weren't hurting you, why didn't you call the police? Why didn't you come home?"

Mallory rubbed her forehead. These were the hard questions, the ones she knew she couldn't answer. Because she couldn't very well say, "I'm now the vessel of a fallen angel and we have a demon on our ass" without ending up in the looney bin.

"Because I couldn't," she said finally. "I'm sorry. I just can't say."

Rhodes didn't look happy. "Mallory, you need to tell me the truth."

"I _am_ telling you the truth," Mallory cried. "I _can't_ tell you! I just _can't_!"

"Amitiel?" Castiel stirred, opened his eyes again, and tried to lift his head. "What is happening? Are you—?"

Mallory was on her feet in a flash, hurrying back to his side. "Hey, take it easy," she told him. It was a little weird; she barely knew this guy but she felt fiercely protective of him. That was Amitiel's emotions bleeding over into hers. "It's okay. I'm okay."

Castiel glared ineffectually at Rhodes. "She is upsetting you," he mumbled.

"No, she isn't," Mallory assured him. "I told you, I'm fine. Go back to sleep, Cas."

"Dean and Sam. Where are they? Are they safe?" Castiel demanded wearily. "Marax will target them in revenge. We have to warn them."

The girl and the angel swapped places. It got easier each time. "Castiel, I said I would take care of it," Amitiel told him. "You only need to focus on healing. Please, brother. Go to sleep."

Castiel sighed heavily and closed his eyes, but his breathing didn't immediately even out. Amitiel turned to look at Rhodes again. The detective was staring at the girl in bemusement; she had heard the entire conversation.

_Oh, crap,_ Mallory groaned.


	7. Chapter 7

Mallory had never been more relieved to hear the sound of someone screaming. Of course, she immediately felt guilty for that reaction, but Amitiel was ignoring her. Before Rhodes could react, the angel darted around the taller woman into the hall, trying to pinpoint the sound of the screams.

The scent of demons struck her like a blow, sulfur reeking in her nostrils. Amitiel spat something in Enochian and manifested her sword before sprinting down the hall towards the screams. Behind her, the detective called Mallory's name, but Amitiel neither slowed nor stopped. There were demons in the hospital, and they had come for her and her brother.

She skidded around a corner, letting her stocking feet slide on the slick floor and flaring her wings for balance. There were two demons in the reception area, menacing several nurses with thick chains. "Hell spawn!" Amitiel barked. The demons whipped around to face her, hungry smirks growing on their faces.

"If it isn't the littlest angel," the male demon leered. "Thinks she's gonna prick us with that little knife!"

Amitiel didn't bother with taunts. She spun towards the demon, all whirling limbs and darting blade. She knew how to use her vessel's tiny size to her advantage, slipping right through the demon's guard to slam her blade him under his ribs. She twisted to make sure it was a killing blow and yanked her sword free.

She didn't see the female's chain until it struck her across the head, throwing her to the ground. The demon was atop her in an instant, stomping down on her sword arm and lifting the chain for another blow. Amitiel swept the demon's legs out from under her with one tawny-feathered wing and rolled to her feet. She lunged forward, striking the demon's arm out of the way and plunging her sword into the demon's gut. The demon screamed in pain and rage, clawing at Amitiel's face. The angel dragged the sword to the side, slicing open the demon's stomach. The demon fell to the ground, clutching at intestines spilling out of the wound. She made a strange mewling noise, blood bubbling from her lips. Amitiel crouch and sliced her throat, putting her out of her misery.

The girl stood there for a moment, chest heaving, spattered with gore. She looked from the corpses at her feet to the nurses still huddled against the wall. "Find somewhere to hide and remain there," she instructed them. "It will be over soon." She turned on her heel and nearly ran smack into Rhodes.

"What the hell is going on?" the detective demanded. Her eyes widened at the sight of the bodies. "Mallory, what did you do?"

With an annoyed expression, Amitiel pushed Rhodes gently but inexorably out of her way. "There are others coming," she said shortly. "If my brother and I leave, the rest of you should be safe. Do not attempt to detain us. I have no desire to hurt you." With that she ran down the hall to Castiel's room.

Castiel was sitting upright, pulling sensors and IVs free. Like Amitiel, he was dressed in scrubs rather than a hospital gown. "We must find Sam and Dean," he said as soon as Amitiel reached his side. She helped him to his feet.

"Mallory informs me they should be at the police headquarters," she replied, running a critical eye over Castiel's injuries. He was not nearly as healed as she would like, but they didn't have a choice.

"Lead the way," he said. Still holding on to each other, the two angels vanished from the hospital room.

They reappeared half a second later in front of the reception desk at the police headquarters. The receptionist let out a faint scream and recoiled from the two apparitions, one bloody and the other pale and bruised. Amitiel released Castiel, waiting to make sure he could stand on his own, and stepped toward the desk.

"Where are the two men being held?" she demanded. "The men who were brought in yesterday."

The woman cringed further from the angels and pressed an alarm button. Amitiel sighed faintly and walked past the desk. Castiel followed her, walking with extreme care. They paced down the hallways, searching for any sign of the Winchesters.

Twice, police attempted to accost them, and twice the angels subdued the humans while inflicting as little harm as possible. Amitiel stepped over the unconscious form of a downed detective and glanced over at her brother. He was leaning against the wall, breathing heavily.

"Perhaps you should wait here," she suggested. He shook his head and pushed away from the wall.

"I am fine."

Amitiel pressed her lips together. As a general rule, angels didn't lie, but they were fully capable of fooling themselves. But she didn't press the issue. The emerged into a large open room, filled with desks in the center and ringed by glass-walled offices. The angels glanced around, failed to locate Dean and Sam, and prepared to move on.

"Mallory!" a voice called from behind them. Within Amitiel, Mallory cringed.

_Shit._

Amitiel turned slowly to face the man who had called her vessel's name. He stood in the doorway of one of the offices, dressed in a tan suit, his silver hair impeccably groomed. His expression was slightly confused and mostly annoyed. "What are you doing?" he demanded. "What is going on?"

"_Mallory, who is this?"_ Amitiel asked impatiently.

Mal cringed again. _He's my dad,_ she admitted reluctantly.

"_I see."_ Amitiel tilted her head slightly to the right. She considered her options for a brief nanosecond, her mind working at angelic speed. Humans would only notice a heartbeat of time, but it was long enough for Amitiel to come to a decision. She turned her back on the man and looked at Castiel. She nodded toward the door on the far side of the room and the two angels began to move away.

"Mallory! Come back here!" Amitiel heard the man stride toward her and then he grabbed her arm, spinning her around to face him. "What do you think you're doing? Why aren't you at the hospital?" the man hissed angrily. "Do you have any idea what a scene you are making?"

Mallory was more upset at this man's words than Amitiel had ever known the child, even when she first entered her, held prisoner in a rapist's basement. And that made Amitiel very angry. She yanked her arm out of his grasp and turned the full force of her glare on him, forcing him to stumble backwards in shock.

"I am not Mallory," she said in a deadly voice. "And she will never fear you again." She didn't have to grab Mallory's father by the throat in order to press her fingers against his forehead, and she didn't have to be quite that rough with him. But she did. Because he frightened Mallory, and Amitiel didn't like that.

As Congressman Donald Graves collapsed limply to the floor, Castiel gave his sister an inquisitive look. Amitiel replied with an entirely too innocent expression and once more nodded towards the far door.

They found Sam first. The door unlocked at a touch from Castiel and he pushed the door open. Sam tried to lunge to his feet, but he was handcuffed to the table and ended up in an awkward, huddled stance. "Cas!" he exclaimed. "What's going on?"

"We are getting you out of here," he replied, shuffling over to Sam and releasing the handcuffs. As they fell from Sam's wrists, the young man stared at the angel.

"We don't have much time," Amitiel said impatiently. "Belial's followers are coming for us and the receptionist called security." She glanced down the hall. "Which has just now arrived. Where is Dean?"

"I don't know," Sam began, but neither angel was listening. They had already moved down the hall, checking each room as they passed. Dean was in the third door down. His reaction was much more relaxed. He stayed in his seat, glowering at the angels when they appeared in the doorway.

"It's about freakin' time," he snapped, raising her cuffed hands. "How about getting me out of here?"

"You could be a little more grateful," Castiel muttered, unlocking the cuffs with a flick of will. Dean got to his feet and gave the angel a more careful look.

"Dude, you look like crap," he said bluntly. Castiel glared at him, a little blurry.

"Where's your car?" Castiel asked.

"I think it's in the impound lot, why?" Dean asked as they filed out into the hall.

"Because neither of us are in any shape to carry passengers," Amitiel informed him stiffly. She was standing at the end of the hall, her back to a door. From the other side came loud thumps and the sound of voices. "We need to leave."

Dean eyed the door warily. "Yeah. Sounds good. This way."

Amitiel nodded. "I'll hold them back. I'll join you at the car when you get there." The three men started walking away. "Dean!" The older Winchester turned back and she glared at him threateningly. "Don't let anything happen to my brother."

They took the fire escape to get to the lot without attracting more attention. Sam and Dean had to help Castiel down the stairs as he hadn't been able to fully purge the drugs from his system. While Sam kept the angel upright, Dean jogged down the rows of cars, looking for the familiar sleek lines of his Impala.

He pulled up beside Sam and Castiel with a spray of gravel and Sam bundled Castiel into the back seat. For a moment Dean hesitated, wondering whether to wait for Amitiel or go ahead and leave. He heard a soft thump and a quiet groan behind him. Checking the rear view mirror, he saw Amitiel slowly listing toward Castiel before finally coming to a rest against his shoulder.

"All right, let's get the hell out of here," Dean muttered, and stomped on the gas pedal.

XxxXxxX

Bobby recognized the sound of the Impala's engine almost as soon as it pulled into the salvage yard. He blew out a heavy sigh. He hadn't got advanced warning, which probably meant the boys were coming in hot and needed to lay low for a couple of days. He set aside the research he was doing for Rufus' niece out in Oklahoma and checked to make sure the coffee was fresh. Then he headed for the front door.

He swung it open and was confronted by the sight of Dean standing on the porch, one fist raised as if about to knock. The other arm was slung under Castiel's shoulders. The angel's customary suit and trench coat were gone, leaving him in hospital scrubs and bare feet. Sam waited behind Dean and Castiel, a teenage girl cradled in his arms.

"What the holy hell happened?" Bobby blurted, his eyes round with shock.

Dean smiled tightly. "We'll tell you all about it, Bobby, but can we come in first? Cas here might not look like much, but he's no lightweight."

Castiel lifted his head and glared groggily at Dean. "I told you, I'm fully capable of walking on my own," he muttered.

Bobby backed his wheelchair away hurriedly to allow the boys to enter. He cast a suspicious eye over the girl in Sam's arms. She was asleep or unconscious; she was so pale it was hard to tell. "Who's the kid?"

"That 'kid' saw the creation of the universe," Castiel said indignantly as Dean eased him onto the recliner.

"Easy, tiger," Dean told Castiel. "That's the Vicodin talking."

Sam went down on one knee to transfer the girl onto the couch. As he arranged her arms across her stomach, Bobby saw the blood spatters across the front of her shirt. Sam covered her up with two or three blankets. "Her name is Mallory," Sam explained. "She's the vessel of Castiel's sister, Amitiel. She fell around the same time Cas did."

Bobby looked around at the four of them. "Someone start at the beginning," he ordered.

Half an hour and three quarters of a bottle of whiskey later, Bobby took off his cap and rubbed his forehead wearily. "You boys sure know how to land yourself in the middle of a heap of trouble," he muttered, tugging his cap back into place. "So what do you plan on doing now?" he demanded.

"Get some rest and never go back to Detroit as long as I live," Dean quipped. Sam pressed his lips together and exhaled noisily.

"We're going to need to deal with Marax and Belial's other followers eventually," Sam pointed out.

"Not like this you aren't," Bobby told him. He studied Castiel for a moment, who had his head tilted back, eyes closed. The angel looked thinner than Bobby remembered, dark circles under his eyes. Bobby transferred his gaze to the other angel. She hadn't moved from where Sam had placed her. There was a yellow-green bruise on her cheek and her foot, poking out from beneath the blanket, was wrapped in dirty gauze.

"We're gonna need to change bandages on both of them," Sam spoke up, following Bobby's gaze. Castiel opened his eyes and lifted his head. Not asleep, then.

"My vessel's healing has resumed its normal rate," he said. His gravelly voice was slurred slightly.

"You still need clean bandages, dude," Dean told him, shaking his head. He got to his feet and eyed the stairs. "You know what, I'm just gonna bring everything down here so I don't have to keep dragging your ass around. Don't fall asleep."

"Angels don't sleep," Castiel muttered.

"They do when they're on, like, two thousand milligrams of Vicodin," Dean shot back, already halfway up the steps. Castiel grumbled something under his breath that sounded like Enochian and turned his head just enough to look at the girl on the couch. His face softened, becoming less weary, and at the same time more concerned. Bobby's brows drew together. It was the same look Dean used to get when he was a kid, nursing Sam back to health from some childhood illness. He continued to watch her until Dean returned with every first aid supply Bobby had in the house.

When Dean helped Castiel struggle out of his t-shirt, Bobby clenched his jaw at the sight of the angel's abdomen covered from hip to chest in bandages. Dean started at one on Castiel's left side, near the bottom of the ribcage. As Dean peeled the bandage aside, it revealed an angry, puckered hole as big as Bobby's thumb between the angel's ribs. A human wouldn't have survived a wound like that.

Sam, meanwhile, was working on the girl. He gently unwrapped the bandages covering both feet, re-wrapped them, and changed the bandages on a nasty-looking burn on her upper arm. Fetching a bowl of water and a washcloth, he rinsed dried, crusted blood from her white-blonde hair.

Bobby watched in growing horror as the extent of Castiel's injuries was revealed. The angel suffered Dean's ministrations silently, but it was clear he was still in pain. The boys, when telling their story, hadn't mentioned that Castiel had been brutally tortured.

Once the angels were finally cared for, Bobby and the Winchester boys retreated to the kitchen to let them rest. "You know you can stay here as long as you need," Bobby told them. Dean rubbed the back of his neck tiredly. No doubt he'd driven the fourteen-hour trip in one go.

"Thanks, Bobby," he said, sounding as weary as he looked. "I don't know how long it's gonna take Cas and Ami to recover. They've both been beaten to hell and Ami wasn't all that strong to begin with.

"Get some sleep," Bobby ordered. "We'll deal with the rest in the morning."


	8. Chapter 8

Dean woke up to the sound of Sam's voice. It was hardly a strange occurrence, given how much time the two men spent together. In fact, Dean was so attuned to his brother's voice that he could tell even through the closed door and empty stairwell that Sam was wearing his bitchface. For a moment, Dean considered turning over, burying his head under his pillow, and going back to sleep. He cracked open one eye and checked his watch.

He'd been asleep for eighteen hours. With a grumbled curse, Dean staggered out of bed, grabbed the nearest pair of jeans, and pulled them on. Running a hand through his short hair, he shuffled down the hallway and descended into the living room.

Sam was standing in the middle of the living room, a plastic shopping bag in one hand. He was, as Dean had predicted, very much in bitchmode, his brow lowered and his lips pressed together. The object of his ire was, strangely enough, Castiel, who was seated on the couch, looking up at Sam with a quizzical expression. The girl (Dean couldn't tell if Amitiel or Mallory was in control) sat next to Castiel, swathed from chin to toes in blankets, and was fighting a smile despite looking deathly pale.

"You can't keep on wearing those," Sam said with a huff, indicating Castiel's t-shirt and scrub pants.

The angel looked down at himself. "What is wrong with my clothing?" he asked innocently.

"Well, for one, you have no shoes," Sam pointed out. "And two, you look like you escaped from a hospital."

"I did escape from a hospital," Castiel reminded him patiently. The girl giggled, high-pitched and quickly stifled. Mallory, then. Sam huffed again and held out the bag.

"Look, just put the damn clothes on, Cas. You can't go around dressed like that, okay? Trust me on this."

With a look sideways at Mallory, Castiel reluctantly got to his feet and took the bag. He stood looking inside it for a moment. "I liked Jimmy's coat," he said suddenly. Mallory giggled again, not bothering to hide it this time.

Sam rolled his eyes. "We'll get you another coat, all right? Just go change already."

Castiel shot Sam a look that was almost annoyed and headed toward the bathroom, which Dean was intensely grateful for. He wouldn't put it past Castiel to simply change in the middle of the living room. As Castiel neared Dean, the angel met his gaze. "Hello, Dean."

"Morning," Dean replied. "How you feeling?"

"I am sufficiently healed," Castiel replied.

"He's lying," Mallory said in a weak voice. "His left side, where they stabbed him. It still hurts. And he didn't take any Vicodin."

Castiel gave her a mild glare. "I prefer to be in full control of my faculties," he replied stiffly.

"Pain is not your friend, dude," Dean chided. "Take the pills, okay?"

Castiel turned his glare on Dean and disappeared into the bathroom. Dean turned to Mallory. "How about you, kiddo?"

Mallory snuggled deeper into the blankets. Her hair was teased into a frizzy nimbus around her head and there were purple shadows under her eyes. Her skin was almost translucent and seemed stretched taught over her bones. She blinked her eyes slowly. "I'm okay," she replied. "I mean, physically. My feet...don't hurt as much. But Ami...I think she's really sick. I've been poking her for over and hour now and she...won't...wake..." her speech was drowned by a cavernous yawn. She blinked a few more times as if her eyelids were too heavy to hold up. "She's making me tired. Hard to stay awake."

"Then why aren't you sleeping?" Dean demanded.

She frowned at him. "'Cuz I needed a shower. And clean clothes. And food."

The bathroom door opened and Castiel returned to the living room. He was still barefoot, but he was now clothed in a pair of jeans and a navy blue turtleneck sweater. Dean blinked at him. It was indescribably odd to see the angel in anything other than his suit and trench coat. He seemed somehow diminished.

"Dude, that is just not right," Dean muttered.

Castiel's brows lowered. "But Sam said these would be acceptable," he said, sounding a little uncertain.

Dean shook his head. "No, what I mean is...you know what? Never mind. Looks good, Cas. Who wants a sandwich?" Dean was making roast beef and bacon sandwiches for himself, Sam, and Mallory when Bobby rolled in from the yard.

"About time you showed your face," he rumbled at Dean.

"Hey, I needed my beauty sleep," Dean protested, setting the sandwiches on paper plates and rooting through the cabinets in search of potato chips. He carried the plates back into the living room and passed them out. In order to take hers, Mallory had to untangle herself from the blankets, revealing that she was dressed in a t-shirt Dean recognized as Sam's.

"Didja pick up new clothes for Mal?" Dean asked his little brother. Sam rolled his eyes at Dean in exasperation.

"Yes," he said wearily.

Dean turned his attention then to Castiel and proceeded to pester him until the angel finally accepted the bottle of prescription Vicodin and swallowed five pills dry. Mallory fell asleep again almost as soon as she finished her sandwich and ended up curled beside Castiel, her head cradled in his lap. Castiel remained perfectly still, on hand resting gently on her shoulder, watching her as she slept.

"So, what's the plan?" Dean asked Sam quietly. Sam tore his gaze away from the angels.

"I dunno, Dean. We can't just leave Marax out there, doing who knows what. She might even be looking for us right now."

"I know," Dean replied glumly. "We gotta take her out, and fast. We may not have enough time to wait for Cas and Ami to recover."

"You will not be able to defeat Marax on you own," Cas said gravely, not looking up at the brothers. They stared at him. "The two of you are not strong enough."

"We took down the yellow-eyed bastard!" Dean countered indignantly.

Castiel lifted his sapphire-blue eyes to lock with Dean's green ones. "How many years did it take you to eliminate Azazel?" he asked softly. "How many of your loved ones did you lose? Marax is just as powerful as Azazel and has more followers. If you confront her alone you will die."

Dean blinked. "Wow. Thanks for the pep talk, Cas. You sure know how to get our spirits up."

Castiel stared at him as if trying to determine whether or not to take Dean at his word. He eventually decided not to bother and sighed with a faint shrug. "If we are to kill Marax and stop her from freeing Belial, you will have to wait until Amitiel and I are again at full strength."

"And how long is that going to be?" Dean demanded impatiently. Castiel suddenly looked unspeakably weary.

"I don't know."

XxxXxxX

Mallory woke up again four hours later, devoured two bowls of soup, and slept for another ten hour straight. When she woke up the third time, and after a shower, she looked for the first time like a normal, healthy young woman. Sam apparently had good taste in women's clothes, because he had picked out a wine-colored tank top to layer underneath a cream sweater and a pair of black jeans. He'd had to guess the size of her feet and ended up with a pair of ankle boots a half size too big, but Mallory assured Sam she didn't mind.

Amitiel hadn't made an appearance in over thirty hours and the Winchesters were starting to get concerned, despite Mallory's insistence that the angel was present and recovering. After a meal including all five of them, Castiel and Mallory disappeared outside for a walk.

For a long time neither of them spoke. They hadn't consciously decided to slip outside together, it had just sort of happened. Mallory again marveled at how comfortable she felt with this man who was practically a stranger.

"What has Amitiel shown you of her memories?" Castiel suddenly asked as they left the scrapyard and began strolling over the open land bordering Bobby's property.

"A little bit," Mallory replied, shoving her hands into her pockets. "I mean, most of what I see...it's hard to comprehend. I've seen some of the First War, and parts of your battle with Belial. A lot of your work in Jerusalem during the Roman occupation. Oh, and that trip to Germany during the plague outbreak."

Castiel nodded. "Yes. That was a unique situation, as heaven was no longer sending down regular patrols to earth during that time."

"Yeah, she mentioned," Mallory agreed. They pushed through the knee-high grass for a moment, heading toward the tree line. The evening air was crisp but not cold, and Mallory was not uncomfortable. Castiel reached out and touched her arm. She looked up at him.

"May I ask you something, Mallory?" he said gravely.

"Um...yes?" she said hesitantly, her eyes growing wide.

"While we were in the police station, the man who confronted us. Amitiel told him that you would never have to fear him again. Who was he?"

Mallory looked away and swallowed hard. "He...He was my father."

The angel came to a halt and stared at her, a concerned frown etched between his dark brows. "Why would you fear your father, Mallory?" he asked gently.

She kicked at the dirt with the toe of her new shoes. The last thing she wanted to do was talk to a freaking _angel_ about her family relationships, but she knew Castiel was also the only one she would even dream of talking to about it. "My dad..." she began. "My dad is an important man. He's a U.S. congressman for Michigan. Has been since before I was born. And...well, appearances mean a lot to him."

Mallory hunched her shoulders, refusing to look up at Castiel. "All my life, he's always expected me to be the perfect daughter, you know, for the press and his colleagues and all that. And every time I screwed up...he'd get really, really mad. And, I mean, it was my fault and everything, I guess I just wasn't good enough, you know? Good enough for him, I mean." She swallowed again and fought against the sudden tears that pricked at her eyes. "So I guess I deserved it, you know. And now, God!" She rubbed the back of her wrist across her eyes. "He's never gonna live it down. What I did. I've probably ruined his career." Mallory chewed on her lower lip in an attempt to keep from crying. "I can't believe I messed up this bad."

She felt warm fingers under her chin and her face was forced upwards until she was confronted by his ancient, blue eyes. "Mallory," he said softly. "Did your father ever tell you that you were not good enough?"

She blinked, unable to tear away from his gaze. "No," she whispered. "No, he didn't have to."

Castiel brushed his thumb along her jaw briefly, staring into her eyes as if reading her soul. "I assure you, Mallory, you are an exemplary human. You were brave enough to save my sister's life, and brave enough to help save mine. Your father has obviously failed to see your true worth, and has only succeeded in convincing you that you have none."

Mallory's breath hitched and she stepped backwards. "No. My dad loves me, he does!" she insisted. "It's me. I keep messing up. I just...I just can't do anything right. I mean, I can't even walk across the school campus without getting snatched!"

Castiel stood where she had left him, still staring at her an expression that was part confusion, part sorrow, and part pity. "How can you think that your kidnapping was your fault?" he asked. "You cannot blame yourself for the sin of a stranger, Mallory. That makes no sense. What you are saying is wrong. You have done many things right."

She snorted. "Yeah right," she muttered.

"You agreed to be Amitiel's vessel when she desperately needed your help," Castiel pointed out. "You traveled six hundred miles through unfamiliar territory and found the two people on earth who could help you. You enabled Amitiel to gather enough strength to rescue me from Marax and you protected us from the human law enforcement while we were in the hospital."

A tear managed to escape and Mallory dashed it away angrily. Castiel took a step closer and placed his hand on her shoulder. "You are a remarkable child, Mallory," he told her intensely. "If your father has convinced you to believe otherwise, then he is wrong and deserves whatever consequences our actions inflicted upon him. He failed you as a father."

She gazed up at him with tear-filled eyes. "But...He's my _dad_..." she whispered.

Castiel sighed. "I understand. My Father...I have not seen the face of my Father in many thousands of years. But I know He loves his children. My brothers and sisters. And you, all of you humans. I know He loves all of us because He told us this. And I choose to believe this. To trust Him. He expects His children to obey Him, yes, but He never tells us we are unworthy. Never."

"You—you're talking about _God_, aren't you?" Mallory asked in a tiny voice. Castiel nodded solemnly.

"I am." He squeezed her shoulder. "My Father thinks you are worthy. Don't let anyone else tell you otherwise."

Mallory blinked a few times, tears now trickling unheeded down her cheeks. She lunged forward, throwing her arms around Castiel's waist and burying her face against his chest. He hesitated for a long moment, and then allowed his arms to circle her shoulders gently.

"Thank you," Mallory whispered.

And then Amitiel woke up.


	9. Chapter 9

Castiel didn't need to feel his Grace stir to know Amitiel had awoken. He didn't need to see the aura flicker into existence around the body of the girl. It was in her eyes the moment the transition occurred, changing from innocent and naïve human child to ancient and vast angel. Castiel allowed his hands to remain on her shoulders as he studied her face.

She stared up at him for a long moment as if searching for something. "You have recovered," she observed.

"As have you," Castiel replied.

Amitiel offered him a tiny smile. "Almost." They stood silently for a moment, and then Amitiel took a deep breath. "It was a bad idea not to kill Marax when we first had the chance."

"I agree," he replied solemnly.

She glanced back in the direction of the house. "Have the Winchesters come up with a plan?"

"I've convinced them to wait until we were fully recovered," Castiel assured her. She nodded.

"Good. We should be able to return to Detroit by tomorrow. We'll need to catch Marax off-guard. Eliminate her before she is able to formulate a defense."

"We could use a few more allies," Castiel observed. Amitiel looked at him sharply.

"Who else is there?" she demanded.

"Dean and Sam have a few friends," Castiel told her with some amusement. "Namely a woman named Ellen Harvelle and her daughter. They are also hunters. Perhaps they will come to aid us."

"It's worth trying," Amitiel agreed as they turned back towards the house.

"Amitiel," Castiel said softly. "The ones who fell with you, who were destroyed. Who were they?"

Amitiel's expression softened and grew sorrowful. "Mihr, Ramiel, and Nathaniel from the Twelfth Garrison, Barquiel and Jeduthan from the Thirty-second Garrison, Elyon, Hagith, and Hasmon from the Seventy-eighth Garrison, Yehudia from your garrison, and Sachiel and Mendrion from mine."

Castiel lowered his head and sent a prayer before the Throne for mercy on his fallen brothers and sisters. This war had already cost so many. How many more could heaven afford to lose? Amitiel placed her hand on his arm and for a moment they mourned together.

When they returned to the house, Sam, Dean, and Bobby were cleaning guns on the kitchen table. The smell of gun oil was familiar and strangely comforting. All three men looked up when the angels entered.

Castiel placed his hand on Amitiel's shoulder and gestured to the older man in the trucker cap. "This is Bobby Singer," he introduced. "He has been kind enough to give us shelter." Castiel turned to the retired hunter. "Bobby, this is my sister, Amitiel."

Amitiel inclined her head slightly. "Hello, Bobby. Thank you for your hospitality."

Bobby grunted. "Don't mention it."

Sam grinned at Amitiel. "Hey, Ami. It's good to see you up. We were getting worried about you."

She offered him a smile. "Mallory was caring for me. But your concern is appreciated." She gestured toward herself. "As are the clothes. Mallory was not comfortable in the hospital attire." The angels exchanged a quick glance, sapphire against granite. "Both of us should be fully recovered by tomorrow," Amitiel continued without looking away from Castiel. "We should begin formulating a plan to take out Marax. Castiel suggests we call for aid."

"From who?" Dean asked, setting aside the slide of his Colt 1911. He picked up a wire brush and threaded it through the gun's barrel.

"You have often mentioned Ellen and Jo Harvelle," Castiel replied. "I have also heard of them from my siblings. Zachariah in particular had nothing good to say about them, which I suppose counts in their favor."

Bobby snorted impolitely and Dean smirked. But Sam only looked worried. "I don't know," he said hesitantly. "I don't want to drag them into this. It could get ugly."

"Cas is right, Sam," Dean pointed out. "We really could use the back-up. We should give them a call." When Sam didn't look convinced, Dean pressed on. "Look, they can always say no, right? They don't have to get involved in anything they don't want to. Let's just ask, okay?"

Sam huffed. "Fine," he agreed reluctantly. Dean nodded and got up from the table, retrieving his cellphone from his pocket. Castiel moved slightly closer so he would be able to hear both sides of the conversation.

"Hey, Ellen, it's me," Dean began once the phone stopped ringing.

"_Hey, honey. What's going on?"_

"Uh, look, we kinda got a situation here and...uh, we could use your help," Dean said, scratching his cheek as he spoke.

"_Yeah? What kind of situation?"_

"There's this demon in Detroit by the name of Marax. She's trying to free a fallen angel, Belial. I've got it from reliable sources that he's bad news. Problem is, she's already kicked our ass the first time we tried to take her out. But we can't leave her alone, either. We're heading back after her and we could really use the back-up."

There was a quiet laugh from the other end. _"A Winchester asking for back-up. Well, that's not something you see every day. Yeah, we'll be there. Where are you now?"_

"We're at Bobby's," Dean replied. "We had some patching up to do." He rubbed the back of his neck. "And a sort of brush with the law..."

Ellen laughed again. _"Remember that you're dead, Dean, and we want it to stay that way. Jo and I can be there by tomorrow afternoon. We'll see you then."_

"All right. Thanks, Ellen." Dean turned back to Sam and Bobby. "They'll be here by tomorrow."

"Great," Bobby grumbled. "So I have to put up with you yahoos for a whole 'nother day?"

Dean clapped the older man on the shoulder. "Aw, admit it Bobby, you love having us here."

"Idjits," Bobby muttered.

XxxXxxX

Amitiel was in the scrapyard when she heard the truck arrive. She had escaped the house in search of somewhere quiet to steal a few minutes alone. The humans were arguing over...something...and Castiel had remained behind to observe. Amitiel had to admit she was fascinated by humans, but at the moment she only found them...irritating.

"_Not you,"_ she assured Mallory. _"Never you, child."_

_To be honest, they were getting on my nerves, too,_ Mallory admitted. They shared a quiet chuckle. Then Amitiel caught the sound of a vehicle engine. She walked between the damaged cars toward the house just in time to see a red pick-up truck pull into the gravel drive. She stood there, arms crossed over her stomach, and watched the two women emerge from the car. Both were blonde, one only a few years older than Amitiel's vessel and the other perhaps a handful of years younger than Bobby.

The elder caught sight of Amitiel almost right away. "Hello, there," she called with a small wave. "Is Bobby home?"

"You are Ellen Harvelle," Amitiel said, tilting her head slightly to the right.

Ellen's smile faltered slightly. "That's right. And you are?"

"My name is Amitiel. I'm a friend of Dean and Sam's." Amitiel inclined her head toward the house. "They are inside, but you may have to interrupt their...discussion."

"God, what are they on about this time?" Jo asked, rolling her eyes. Amitiel lifted her shoulder and let it drop.

"To be perfectly truthful, I haven't the faintest idea," she admitted. "I made my escape over an hour ago." She smiled faintly. "Hopefully your arrival will convince them to stop. After you, please." She gestured toward the door and followed as the women stepped onto the porch. Ellen opened the front door without knocking and strode in.

"...I don't care what you think, Sam, that's not the way we're doing things!" came the sound of Dean's raised voice.

"You always get like this!" Sam replied hotly. "You act like you're the only one who has any say in this."

"Yeah, well that's because I'm always right."

"Oh, right, because you never make mistakes!"

"Everyone makes mistakes," Dean shot back, ignoring the fact he was contradicting himself.

"That's my point!" Sam exclaimed.

"Boys!" Ellen interrupted, coming to stand in the kitchen doorway. "Don't you think that's enough?"

They both turned to stare at her for a moment. Castiel's expression was somewhat relieved; even he—who had a nearly-endless patience when it came to Dean Winchester—was reaching his limit.

"Hi, Ellen," Sam said sheepishly. The woman folded her arms across her chest and glared at the both of them. When neither of them seemed inclined to continue the argument, she nodded in satisfaction.

"That's better. Now c'mere!"

Hugs were exchanged between the Winchesters and the Harvelles, and Bobby was called in from where he had retreated into his study. After the old friends had greeted each other, Jo suddenly turned to Castiel and thrust her hand towards him.

"Hi. I'm Jo. Who're you?"

Castiel closed his hand around hers without hesitation. "I am Castiel. I have heard much about you, Jo Harvelle."

She blinked and looked suspiciously at Dean and Sam. "All good, I hope."

"Good and bad," Castiel replied. "From several different sources."

Jo looked like she didn't know quite what to say about that, but Ellen decided it was time to get down to business. "All right. Tell us about this job in Detroit," she ordered, accepting the beer Bobby had offered her. Dean claimed the seat opposite her and Sam leaned against the counter.

"All right. Well, so this Marax bitch is trying to open the prison of a fallen angel, Belial," Dena began, but Ellen waved him off.

"You already said. Get down to the nitty gritty, boys."

"Marax needs to sacrifice two angels in order to open the prison doors," Sam put in. "And not just any angels. Two in particular. The two who imprisoned Belial in the first place."

Jo looked up with a quizzical frown. "Okay, if it's angels, how is it our problem?"

Dean jerked his head over to where Castiel and Amitiel where standing, close enough for their arms to touch. "It's those two angels."

Ellen and Jo both turned to stare at the two. The angels gazed mildly back. "They're..._angels_?" Ellen echoed slowly. "Didn't you say we don't like the angels?"

"They're on our side," Sam assured her.

"And I'd take it as a personal insult if a demon killed them," Dean put in. Castiel raised an eyebrow.

"Your concern is heartwarming," he said in deadpan. Amitiel smirked and said something in Enochian. Castiel cracked a smile of his own. Dean glowered at both of them.

"That's not fair," he growled. Both of them instantly looked innocent.

Ellen shook her head. "Okay, so Marax needs to sacrifice them to free Belial. We got that. It's just...angels?" she said again, eying Castiel and Amitiel. "They don't look much like angels."

"These are vessels," Amitiel replied, gesturing to herself. "In our true form, you would be blinded if you tried to look at us. These are for your benefit."

"Vessels," Ellen repeated, her expression growing dark. "You mean to say you're _possessing_ some little girl?"

Amitiel looked about to reply when something stopped her. Her eyes became distant for a few seconds, and then her face changed. Dean and Sam recognized it by now and knew what was coming. But when the girl spoke again, Ellen and Jo both jumped.

"Mrs. Harvelle," the girl said, her voice soft and suddenly child-like. "It's okay. I agreed to this. I want Amitiel here." She half-turned and gestured at Castiel. "And Jimmy, he agreed to host Castiel. It's not always fun, but they needed us. And they take care of us, too."

Ellen stared at the girl. "You...you're the host?" she asked quietly.

The girl nodded. "My name is Mallory, and Amitiel saved my life. The least I could do is help save hers. She needed me. And angels aren't like demons. You have to say yes before they can come inside."

Ellen still looked uncomfortable. "So you have no problem with an angel riding around inside your skin?"

Mallory laughed a little erratically. "Believe me, I am so much better off now than I was before Ami came to me. I'd be dead now if it weren't for her." She rubbed her palms against her thighs. "I have to agree with Dean, though. I'd kinda take it personally if some demon tried to sacrifice Amitiel." She pulled a wry face. "So if you could help us out, I'd appreciate it."

Ellen gave her an assessing look. "All right. What's the plan?"

xxxxxx

A/N: I realize that the last two chapters have been conspicuously lacking in action. I promise things will pick up next chapter! Please hang in there and thanks for reading!


	10. Chapter 10

Three slightly-built, shadowy figures stole across the roof of the old steel mill, dodging between ventilation hoods and chimneys. They came to rest in the lee of the tiny brick building that housed the door and the top of the stairs into the factory below.

Jo and Ellen both cradled sawed-off shotguns in their arms, back-up pistols stuck in the waistbands of their jeans. Amitiel carried only her sword, held in a reverse grip in her right hand. As they crouched against the wall, the angel tilted her head, her eyes distant and oddly blank.

"The men are circling around to the west side of the factory," she whispered. "There are no signs of the demons yet."

Ellen gave her a sharp look. "How do you know?" she demanded.

"Castiel told me," Amitiel replied shortly.

"Oh, don't tell me you can read minds," the older woman muttered.

"Yes, we can," Amitiel said, not catching the sarcasm in Ellen's voice. She tilted her head again. "They are entering through the window. That is our signal."

"All right," Jo said, rising to her feet and reaching for the door. "Let's go."

Amitiel was the first inside, descending the stairs with noiseless steps. Ellen and Jo covered her as they followed. The metal staircase clung to the north wall, the other side open to the main factory floor. They heard the first gunshots before they reached the bottom of the stairs, and the first demon attacked just as Amitiel reached the floor.

Ellen and Jo shot him full of rock salt over Amitiel's shoulders, and as the demon stumbled backwards, Amitiel bounded forward, bringing her sword up to slash him across the throat. Two more demons jumped out of the shadows, one of them grabbing Amitiel from behind. She flared her wings, breaking his hold, and spun around to bury her sword in his stomach, angling up to pierce his heart. As he fell, she heard Ellen and Jo hold off the other demon with rock salt rounds.

Amitiel whipped around to find the second demon but he stood just out of reach. She cocked her arm back and threw her sword into his chest. Jo bent to retrieve the weapon and handed it back to the angel. For a moment the three women waited, but no more demons made their appearance.

"The others must have taken the boys' bait," Ellen observed quietly. Amitiel nodded and indicated a direction further across the factory floor.

"Marax will no doubt be in the most secure area," she said. "We should search the back rooms while Dean, Sam, and Castiel keep the guards occupied."

Ellen took the lead this time, Jo bringing up the rear. Amitiel extended her senses as far as they would go. She could feel her brother on her periphery, blazing like a white-hot flame. Dean and Sam were near Castiel, dimmer red glows. Here and there throughout the building she could sense the demons, like patches of darkness that slipped in and out of her sight. She growled with frustration at the limits she still had to reconcile herself with.

Ellen cried out a warning as a female demon dropped down from the catwalks above. The demon landed too close for Ellen to get a shot, so the hunter whipped the but of her shotgun into the demon's jaw. The creature stumbled back far enough for Ellen to swing the shotgun around and unload a blast of rock salt into the demon's chest. That knocked the demon flat onto her back, and Ellen slammed her boot down onto the demon's throat. Amitiel dropped to one knee to drive her sword straight through the demon's heart.

The angel and the hunter exchanged approving looks and began to move on. The sounds of struggle were getting louder and more intense. Amitiel paused in mid-step, her eyes narrowing. "They need help," she said suddenly. "There were more than we expected. Jo, I am sending you to them." Before Jo could agree or disagree, Amitiel reach out and touched the young woman's forehead, transporting her directly to Castiel's side.

Ellen reached into her jacket pocket for more shells and reloaded her shotgun. "Those boys better take care of my girl," she muttered. Amitiel turned to look at her.

"I've told Castiel to get her away should things turn for the worst," she assured Ellen. Ellen nodded in satisfaction and began moving again. They passed several doors before Amitiel finally hissed to get Ellen's attention. The door she chose led to a dark hallway, and the angel took the lead as the two females crept forward, alert for any sign of movement.

It happened before Amitiel had time to react. A metal panel slammed down behind them, locking immediately into place. Ellen swore and lunged forward to test it, but Amitiel jumped away from the metal. It was covered in anti-angel wards and lines of runes Amitiel recognized from the chains the demons had used earlier. She grabbed Ellen's arm and pulled her forward, just as the hallway filled with the sound of growls.

"What the _hell_?" Ellen demanded, raising her shotgun and peering down the darkened corridor. Amitiel knew very well that the human could see nothing, and had no idea why the angel suddenly placed herself squarely in front of the woman, bloody sword at the ready. But Amitiel was staring down three hellhounds and didn't have time to explain.

Ellen was lucky she couldn't see the beasts. The sight of them would probably send her catatonic. They were massive, each at least four feet high at the shoulder. They were covered in scales the color of dried blood, their backs quivering with backwards-swept spines. Their paws were tipped by razor-sharp talons, and a poisoned spike ended the long, prehensile tail. Their faces were a mass of lumps and bulbous protrusions, split in half by a fang-filled maw. Multiple red, glowing eyes were set in the top half of the faces, and saliva dripped from their open mouths.

"Amitiel, what is it?" Ellen demanded, her gaze sweeping blindly over the creatures.

"Hellhounds," Amitiel replied tersely. "Stay where you are."

The hounds advanced towards them, tails lashing and claws scraping over the cement floor. Amitiel crouched in readiness, her grip tightening over her sword. The hounds prowled closer, teeth snapping in eagerness. Then the first hound lunged.

Amitiel met it head-on, turning it aside with her shoulder. As it impacted the wall face-first, she spun around, slicing her sword down its side with a spray of blue-black blood. The creature scampered backwards with an angry snarl as its two companions crowded forward. One slashed at the angel but Amitiel caught the talons against her blade and twisted, shearing two of them off as she slammed the hound's paw against the ground. The third and uninjured one bulled past its companions, mouth hanging open but Amitiel caught it by the throat and held on. It strained to get at her, teeth snapping inches from her face. Its back paws scrabbled at the ground, carving gouges into the cement. Amitiel's back bowed with the effort of keeping it at bay, her arm beginning to tremble.

Ellen's shotgun discharged practically beside Amitiel's ear, spraying iron buckshot rather than salt. The shot put out three of the hellhound's eyes and tore off one of its ears. Ellen fired again, and the hound flung itself away from the angel in an attempt to escape the iron embedded in its flesh. Steam rose from the pellet wounds and dark blood dripped to the ground.

Ellen seized hold of Amitiel's arm and dragged the angel to her feet. "How many of 'em are there?" she demanded.

"Three," Amitiel replied grimly. She pointed. "There, there, and there." Ellen fired off three rounds in quick succession, hitting the hound she'd already injured but missing the other two. Amitiel shifted herself forward down the hall, plunged her sword through the injured hellhound's neck, and shifted back to Ellen's side before the other two hounds could react.

Howling in rage, the remaining hounds bounded forward, shoving at each other in their eagerness to reach Amitiel. Ellen fired again, grazing both hounds, but One of them still reached Amitiel and slammed into her, knocking her off her feet. Amitiel fell backwards against the metal barrier and cried out when the wards burned across her back. Ellen reached for her again, shotgun extended in the other arm, but two demons appeared in the hallway and grabbed the woman's arms, yanking her backwards.

The hounds were upon Amitiel now. She was at a disadvantage, not having returned to her feet. She slashed her sword at their faces, trying to drive them back enough to give her room, but they dodged her blow and changed tactics.

Amitiel screamed as jagged, broken teeth closed over her left wing. The hellhound bit deep and hung on grimly, like a demonic pit bull. She thrashed, trying to free herself, but that only allowed the other hound to attach itself to her right wing. She was only dimly aware of more demons approaching her with heavy, black chains. One of the hounds shook his head, tearing flesh and muscle and feathers. Amitiel screamed again, her true voice stretching the limits of her human vessel. The demons flinched as they bound her, blood trickling from their ears, but they didn't stop until she was completely immobile. Then one of the demons barked an order and the hellhounds released her.

Amitiel hung limp against the chains, her wings tattered and torn around her. Blood-smeared feathers were scattered over the floor. One of the hellhounds lapped at the droplets of blood with a sound of pleasure. It was all Amitiel could do to stay conscious as they dragged her down the hall.

XxxXxxX

Why the demons hadn't killed them, Dean had no idea. Held firmly between two ridiculously large demons, he was half-dragged down the dim hallways of the factory. Overhead, the lights flickered wildly, sending shadows running menacingly all around them. Dean craned his neck to look behind him. Sam had two demon escorts of his own, but they were practically carrying him rather than dragging him along. Sam was too concussed to put up much of a fight. Castiel, on the other hand, was struggling madly against the chains binding his arms and around his neck. The angel had managed to transport Jo to safety, but the moment of distraction was all the demons needed to catch them off-guard.

They finally reached a doorway, which the demons yanked their prisoners through. The room beyond was light by candles and torches held in brackets on the wall. More demons thronged along the edges of the room; Dean estimated about twenty of the hell spawn present. Ellen was being held at knife point in one corner. The older woman's eyes swept over the new arrivals and looked to Dean with an intense expression. Dean assured her with a quick nod and Ellen instantly relaxed.

In the center of the room, someone had drawn a vast and intricate seal in what looked to be fresh blood. Lying in the center of the seal, bound hand and foot with chains, lay Amitiel. Her eyes were open, but glazed and empty. Her breath came in ragged pants and there were spatters of blood on the ground around her, but Dean couldn't see any injury on her.

At the sight of his sister, Castiel yelled something in Enochian, but the demons ignored him, dragging him forward until he was positioned beside Amitiel in the middle of the seal. The demons forced him to his feet and secured the chains to loops sunk deep into the concrete, effectively immobilizing him. Castiel leaned over Amitiel as far as he could, speaking to her rapidly, too quietly for Dean to make out his words.

The door in the far wall suddenly burst open and a woman strode in. She was a leggy, lean brunette whose fashion sense reminded Dean forebodingly of Meg. Behind her paced a tall, solidly-built man with an unreadable expression in his deep-set eyes. The woman walked up to the very edge of the seal and crouched to bring herself to eye-level to Castiel.

"Hiya, angelcakes," she said with a leer. "Didja miss me?"

Castiel gave her a glare that should have, by all rights, drilled two holes through her skull. "I will destroy you, Marax," he said in a voice husky with barely-controlled rage. "I will scatter you across the universe. Slowly."

Her grin only grew wider. "Oh, you say the sweetest things to me, baby." She got back to her feet and turned to the man behind her. "Are you ready?" she asked.

"Yes," he replied in a deep voice. She went to stand directly in front of him.

"You will be greatly honored by our master and our master's great brother," Marax told him. "Your name will forever be remembered as the great hero." 

The man only inclined his head once. Marax nodded back and held out her hand. One of the demons stepped to her side and placed an obsidian-bladed knife in her hand. Then she turned back to the angels. Dean lunged forward against the grip of his captors.

"You leave them alone, you bitch!" he spat. "Touch them and I'll kill you!"

Marax glanced at him dismissively. "Wait your turn, Dean Winchester. My master is going to have fun with you." She stepped into the center of the seal and bent over Amitiel. She grabbed the angel's arm and yanked the sleeve back. Pressing the tip of the blade against the tender skin at the inside of Amitiel's elbow, Marax dragged the knife down the angel's forearm. Dark red blood welled up from the wound and spilled over onto the ground. Marax dropped Amitiel's arm and performed the same procedure on Castiel, the male angel seething silently the whole time.

Then Marax retreated hastily from the seal. The demons watched the seal intensely, all of their eyes shuttering to sold black. For a long moment, nothing happened. Then the ground began to tremble under their feet. The lines of the seal started to glow with a hellish, orange light. The light grew until Dean had to screw his eyes shut against it.

Within the light he heard the strange voice he recognized as belonging to an angel, that thousands of whispers accompanied by the shrill, ear-piercing tone that threatened to burst his eardrums. The light and noise got worse and worse until it felt like Dean's head was going to explode. Then it ended.

Dean cautiously cracked an eye open. Castiel and Amitiel were still lying in the center of the seal, but now both of them were sprawled on the ground, eyes closed. Dean couldn't see if they were still breathing. The demons were now staring at the man standing next to Marax.

The man slowly tilted his head to rake his gaze across the room. He lifted his arms, stretching his muscles and flexing his fingers. He looked around the room again before his eyes finally came to land on Marax.

"Master," she breathed worshipfully. "You've returned."

Dean's heart splashed somewhere in his stomach as Belial continued to stare at Marax for a long moment. Then the angel's hand darted forward, tangling in Marax's long hair and yanking her head back. Belial kissed the she-demon, hard and deep, enticing a moan from Marax's throat. Then Belial released her.

"I have presents for you, master," Marax simpered, gesturing to Amitiel and Castiel. "And look, the Winchesters. I brought them here for you." Belial turned to look at Dean. His eyes were too dark to determine their color, but what Dean saw made his stomach turn in knots and try to disgorge his heart back out through his throat.

"You have done well," Belial finally said. "The Michael Sword will die, and Lucifer's vessel will be brought before my brother. This war will end and we will rule this planet."

The demons broke out in throaty growls and Dean was forced to his knees, a knife at his throat. Belial held up a hand. "Wait." He turned to look at the angels lying over the gate to his former prison. "First, though, I believe I will indulge in a little revenge." He gestured sharply. "Unbind them."

"Master," Marax began, but Belial gestured again, cutting her off. Marax indicated to two demons and they hurried forward to undo the chains around the captured angels. Dean wanted to struggle, wanted to fight and blow the demons straight back to hell, but the cold steel at his throat kept him in place.

Castiel stirred faintly, opening his eyes and lifting his head. His expression froze in horror when he caught sight of Belial standing over him. Belial smiled, a cruel, twisted grimace. "I have been waiting a long time for this, brother," Belial said quietly, and lifted his hand. An orb of intense, white light gathered in his palm, and then Belial thrust it toward Castiel.

"Cas!" Dean screamed, lunging forward, forgetting the demons surrounding him. A line of fire scoured down the side of his neck and warmth blossomed against his skin. But there was nothing he could do.

Amitiel threw herself across Castiel, raising one hand as if to ward off a blow. The blast struck her upraised arm and exploded, washing the world into white fire.

xxxxxx

A/N: Introducing Belial: as played by Sam Worthington. *applause*


	11. Chapter 11

The blast picked Dean up off the ground and flung him into the wall. He slammed into the ground and curled into a ball, protecting his head as best he could. Intense heat washed over him, and for a brief, terrifying moment, he really thought he was going to die.

Then it was over.

The light vanished as quickly as it had come, plunging the room into darkness. Dean opened his eyes cautiously, but random flashes of purple and orange across his vision blinded him. He scrabbled in his pockets until he found his mini Maglight and clicked it on.

The bodies of the demons were scattered around the room. None of them moved. Dean carefully reached out to the nearest one. No pulse, no breath. They were all dead. Dean flicked the light to the center of the room, hoping...

Cas and Ami were gone. Vanished. So were Marax and Belial. Dean swore under his breath and lurched to his feet. "Sam? Ellen?" he called hoarsely.

He heard Ellen cough, and then, "Dean? What—what happened?"

"I dunno," he replied. "They're gone. The angels...and Marax. Can you see Sam?"

Ellen moved around faintly, and he finally found her with the flashlight. She looked pale and shaky, about the same as Dean felt. "He was over there, last I saw," Ellen said, pointing. Dean followed the gesture and sure enough, Sam was sprawled against the wall, head lolling and limbs splayed. Dean picked his way through the corpses and knelt beside his younger brother.

"Sam?" he called. "Hey, Sam. Wake up, kiddo." When Sam didn't respond, Dean checked his pupils. They contracted evenly, thank God, and Sam finally began to stir, reaching up with one large hand to bat the painful light away from his face. "Whoa, easy there, Sasquatch," Dean said, supporting Sam's head with one hand. "Take it easy."

Sam's face scrunched up with pain and he turned his head away from the flashlight. Dean obligingly angled it away. "Ami?" Sam whispered. "Cas?"

"Worry about them later," Dean said, trying (vainly) to ignore the tightness in his chest. "Let's get you out of here."

"Dean? Mom? Sam!" The voice bounced distantly down from the hallways outside, accompanied by another dancing flashlight beam. "Mom!"

"Jo!" Ellen called, lurching toward the doorway. "In here, baby!"

Jo burst into the room, her shotgun at the ready. She took in the situation with a single glance and lowered the gun, reaching out with the other arm and catching her mother. "I saw the blast and thought...what happened?"

"Not sure," Ellen replied. "We just...let's just get outta here first."

Dean hauled Sam to his feet and held him upright while Sam sorted out his legs. Once the taller Winchester got them working again, he allowed Dean to help him out of the room. "I think...Belial tried to hit Cas with something," Dean explained, piecing together his fragmented memories. "Ami musta blocked it or something. They've gone missing," he told Jo. "They're just gone."

"I'm sure they're all right," Jo said hastily, maneuvering her mother through the abandoned machinery. "They're pretty tough. They'll be fine."

They reached the outer doors and pushed through, wincing at the bright sunlight. Sam groaned suddenly and lurched sideways, nearly jerking Dean off his feet. When Dean saw the green tinge to Sam's face, he hastily let go of his brother and let Sam fall to his knees. Sam retched all over the gravel parking lot until all he was bringing up was bile and saliva.

Dean patted his back soothingly as he inspected the back of Sam's head. There was a nasty-looking goose-egg but it thankfully wasn't bleeding. After the dry heaves ceased, Dean pulled Sam once more upright and they limped, staggered, and shuffled towards the cars parked down the block.

Dean eased his brother into the backseat of the Impala as Jo likewise helped her mother into their truck. Jo found some water bottles in the back and offered Sam one, who took it gratefully to rinse the sour taste of vomit out of his mouth. Dean retrieved his cellphone from his pocket and tried to turn it on. It remained dead and silent. "Dammit," he muttered. "Hey, Sam. Gimme your phone."

Sam handed it to Dean without taking his arm down from his eyes. But it was similarly unresponsive. Dean growled with frustration. The blast must have knocked them out. "Jo!" he called. "Your phone working?"

She looked across at him. "Yeah, why?"

"Call Bobby and let him know what went down." Dean rubbed his forehead. His head was finally beginning to clear. They needed to find Cas and Ami. If they had survived. _No,_ Dean told himself fiercely. _They_ did_ survive. They're all right._ And if they survived, then Belial and Marax probably had, too. Fan-fucking-tastic. "We gotta find 'em before they do," Dean muttered to himself. But where the hell had they gone? Dean didn't even know where to begin to start looking.

Dean rested his head against the side of the car. His body ached all over, Sam was concussed, Ellen was no better off than he was, and they had two friends MIA. His day couldn't possibly get any worse.

XxxXxxX

The motel had been Jo's idea, because frankly, she didn't know what else to do. Sam needed someplace dark to rest for at least twenty-four hours and Dean and her mom looked about ready to fall over. Bobby had yelled at her for forty solid minutes before she finally told him off and hung up. She'd probably regret it later, but she was the only one of them not beaten to hell and she had other things on her mind.

Dean and Sam had taken over one of the beds, Dean spooning Sam as they slept. Dean would most likely wake up embarrassed as all get out, but right now Jo left them be. She turned the TV on to the local news and waited to see if their escapade made it to the press. What she saw instead surprised her.

"Congressman Graves held a press conference today asking for the release of his daughter, Mallory," the news anchor announced. "Mallory was last seen in the company of James Novak and these two unknown men." Two sketches bearing strong resemblances to Sam and Dean filled the TV screen. "Mallory was discovered five days ago in a motel room, along with the two assailants and a severely-injured Novak. She was hospitalized and in a coma for over twenty-four hours before waking. She claimed that the two unnamed men had not hurt her and had, in fact, saved her life before once more disappearing with all three men."

Jo muted the TV and glanced over at her mother, who was propped against the headboard. Ellen looked haggard. "That poor girl has family looking for her," Ellen said softly.

"We gotta find them," Jo replied. "But where do we start looking, Mom?"

"I don't know, honey," Ellen said wearily.

Jo's phone rang. Jo stared at it for a moment, sitting on the table. She picked it up and checked the incoming number. It was blocked. She answered anyway. "Hello?"

"_Uh...hello?"_ The voice sounded vaguely familiar, but Jo couldn't quite place it. _"Um, who—who is this?"_

Jo frowned. "Who are _you_?" she retorted sharply.

"_I'm—my name is Jimmy. Jimmy Novak. I, uh, I don't know what happened, but I tried Dean's number and he's not picking up, and this number was stuck in my head for some reason and I'm not sure where I am and—"_

Jo shot upright. "Jimmy?" she repeated. "As in...Castiel's Jimmy?"

There was a long silence. _"Yeah,"_ came the soft reply. _"Yeah, that's me. No offense, but I don't know who you are..."_

"I'm Jo," Jo replied quickly. "It's okay, I'm a friend of Dean and Sam. Listen, Jimmy, it's really important. Is Mallory with you?"

"_Mallory? Who's that?"_

Jo rubbed her forehead, glancing over again at her mother, who was listening intently. She didn't know how angel possession worked, if the host was at all aware of what was going on. Mallory's brief emergence from Amitiel's personality seemed to indicate that they were, but Jimmy had no idea what was happening. "She's a girl, uh, blonde hair...She's Amitiel's vessel?" she said hopefully.

"_Oh...No. No, there's no one else here. Just me. And...I think there's something wrong with Castiel."_

"Okay, it's okay, Jimmy," Jo said soothingly. "Just...can you describe where you are for me?"

"_It's a parking garage. It looks like a bomb went off or something. Uh...there's a sign. The Sheraton. And I can see the river."_

Jo scrabbled for Sam's computer and pulled up Google Maps, punching in the information Jimmy had given her. "Okay, I got your location. Stay put, Jimmy. I'm coming for you, all right?"

"_All right,"_ he replied, sounding relieved.

Jo hung up and grabbed the keys to the truck. "I'll be back as soon as I can," she told her mother.

"Be careful," Ellen replied.

Jimmy was right; it did look like a bomb had gone off. Piles of crumbled concrete, exposed rebar, and here and there a steel beam were scattered through the garage. Jo carefully picked her way through the mess, searching for any sign of the man she'd come for. She came across a pay phone that was shockingly still intact.

"Jimmy?" she called. "Jimmy, it's Jo. Where are you?"

She heard footsteps and a man appeared from around a pillar. Jo stopped in her tracks. It was Castiel. It looked exactly like Castiel. Except that the man's expression was frightened and nervous, two expressions Jo had yet to see cross the angel's face. "Jimmy," she called to him. "Are you all right?"

He didn't move as she walked towards him, but before she came within three paces, he suddenly said, "Christo." Jo stopped walking again. For a few seconds they both waited. Nothing happened.

"Satisfied?" Jo asked.

Jimmy nodded. "You're Jo?" he said, stepping towards her. His hair and black trench coat were covered in concrete dust.

"I'm Jo," Jo confirmed. "C'mon. Let's get you out of here. Dean and Sam are back at the motel. We were worried about you." 

"_I_ was worried about me," Jimmy mumbled as he followed her back towards the pick-up. "What happened? I can't remember anything."

"I wasn't there when it happened," Jo told him. "But from what Dean said, Belial tried to smash you—I mean Castiel—with something and Amitiel stopped him. Whatever she did blew out the whole factory, you guys with it. On the plus side, she killed a crapload of demons doing it. How do you feel?"

Jimmy stumbled over a pile of gravel. "Okay, I guess. I've got this cut on my arm, but it's already starting to heal. Castiel is taking care of it, I suppose."

Jo glanced at him from the corner of her eye. "Speaking of which...you said something was wrong with him?"

He rubbed at his temple fretfully. "He's still in here. I can feel him, like bits of broken glass. But...he's not responding. I can't get him to wake up."

"Oh," Jo replied. She grimaced. She just didn't know enough about angels to know what to do. "Why don't we get you back to the motel and worry about this later, okay?"

Jimmy nodded in agreement, his face pinched. "Okay." They reached the truck without further conversation, but Jimmy suddenly turned to Jo. "You...you haven't found Amitiel, have you?" he asked quietly.

Jo shook her head. "No. I was kinda hoping she'd be with you. You don't have any idea where she might be?"

He sighed. "No. I mean, Cas might, but I'm not getting anything from him anymore. You mentioned a factory...how far away did I end up?"

"Clear across town," Jo replied, starting the engine. "Dean said something about banishing sigils before he passed out, but it didn't sound like that's what Ami did. Whatever she did."

Jimmy stared out the window, his blue eyes distant. "Cas really cares about her," he said softly. "She's his sister, you know."

Jo tightened her grip on the steering wheel. "We'll find her, Jimmy," she promised.

Dean was awake and waiting for them when they got back to the motel. "Jimmy!" he exclaimed, catching sight of the man. "Are you okay? What happened?"

"I'm fine," Jimmy replied a little testily. "And so is Cas. I don't know what happened; I've been pretty out of it since..." he gulped suddenly. Dean grabbed his arm and peered at the shorter man's face.

"What is it, Jimmy?" he demanded. Jimmy turned his face away.

"I was awake for some of Cas' time with Marax," Jimmy replied. "Castiel was too weak to protect me and I..." he cleared his throat and frowned. "What's wrong with Sam?"

Dean blinked at the sudden topic change but decided to roll with it. "He's got a concussion. He'll be okay. Are you sure you're fine?"

"Why do you keep asking me that?" Jimmy snapped. Dean glared at him.

"Because you look about ready to fall over, dude. Sit down." When Dean shoved Jimmy towards a chair, Jimmy abruptly let his legs crumple beneath him, collapsing into the chair. His shoulders slumped and he buried his face in his hands with a loud groan.

Ellen walked over to him and handed him a cup of coffee she had made in the motel's tiny kitchenette. He looked up, surprised, before taking the proffered mug. "I'm Ellen," she told him. "I'm Jo's mother."

"Nice to meet you," Jimmy replied a little flatly. "Jimmy."

"Uh-huh. Well, you listen here, Jimmy. You've been through a hell of a day, so you just sit there and get some rest. You can ignore this idiot, too, if it makes you feel better," Ellen said, slapping Dean gently upside the head. Dean flinched and glared at Ellen without much heat. Jimmy cracked a tiny smile.

"Thanks."

Ellen turned to Jo. "We've been monitoring the police scanner in case anyone's come across Mallory. So far, no luck."

"That may be a good thing," Jo pointed out. "They've already attracted media attention the last time the police picked 'em up. I don't think we'd have an easy time breaking 'em out a second time."

Dean looked sheepish. "Not our fault," he muttered petulantly. Ellen threw him a mild glare but didn't comment.

"Bobby called while you were out," she went on. "He's reached out to his contacts in the area and told them to be on the lookout for Mal. Hopefully one of them'll run across her before Belial and Marax do."

"Are we sure they survived?" Jo asked, claiming her own cup of coffee. God, it felt like forever since her last hit of caffeine.

"If Jimmy and Cas did, the others probably did, too," Dean replied, crossing his arms over his chest. "Good news for Mal and Ami, bad for Belial and Marax."

Ellen nodded. "Right. So. We should start keeping an eye out for demon sign. That might give us an idea where those two are. We gotta take care of 'em before they do too much damage." She turned to Dean. "You said an angel can be killed by another angel, right?"

"Cas told me that the only thing that can kill an angel is an angel sword," Dean replied. He glanced over at Jimmy and his eyes widened. "Whoa! Jimmy! What's going on?"

Jimmy was bent over again, clutching his head. His mouth was open in a silent scream and his face was frozen in a mask of pain. Dean dropped to his knees in front of him and grabbed his shoulders. "Jimmy!" he called. "C'mon, man, talk to me. What's wrong?"

Jimmy's wide, frightened eyes fixed on Dean's face. "Mallory..." he panted. "I know where she is."


	12. Chapter 12

The Impala fishtailed as it screeched around a corner. Dean gripped the steering wheel and didn't care much. He knew exactly what his beloved car was capable of. Jo, in the back, didn't seem to mind, either, giving some idea of what kind of driver Ellen was. Jimmy, riding shotgun, however, was a whole other story. He was about ready to hurl.

"_How_ do you know where Mal is, again?" Dean demanded, gunning the Impala down a straightaway.

"I don't know, I just do," Jimmy said tightly, one hand gripping the handle in the door and the other pressed to the side of his head. "Take a right up here." Dean yanked the wheel around and Jimmy yelped, tightening his hold on the door.

"Well, are you picking up anything else?" Dean asked. "Like, is she in danger?"

"I. Don't. Know," Jimmy gritted again. He was bruised, battered, and in control of his body for the first time in at least two months and he was officially having a Bad Day. It didn't help that he was being compelled (quite strongly, too) to find a girl he had never met and Dean (who he didn't particularly like, despite him having saved Jimmy's life) was barking questions in his ear. So yes, Jimmy was a wee bit peeved. "Left. Left. LEFT!"

Dean hung a hard left, tires squealing, and Jimmy's arm shot out toward a narrow alley. "There!" The Impala's left rear tire bumped up on the curb as they shot through the alleyway and through to the other side. Jo swore as she bounced off the door and caught her shotgun before it slid off the seat.

Jimmy shoved hard at the angel inside his head. _Come on, Castiel, wake up!_ As much as he liked actually being awake for a change, Jimmy was feeling a little out of his depth. "Here," he yelled suddenly, pointing to the parking lot of a baseball diamond. Dean blew past the sign reading "Comerica Park," snapping the chain across the entrance.

"Now where?" he asked.

"There!" Jimmy yelled again, pointing straight at the stadium. Dean grumbled under his breath but still tore across the parking lot, which was thankfully empty, it being two o'clock in the morning. He parked practically on the sidewalk in front of the main entrance. Jimmy was the first out of the car. He had to wait until Dean got them into the stadium, but then made a bee-line for the field itself. He paused as he stepped out onto the first tier of seats.

"Holy crap," Dean said behind him. Jimmy had to agree. The center of the field had been blasted into a crater at least ten feet deep and twice that across.

"This is where she landed," Jimmy said, casting around. The tugging feeling was less intense now. He knew he was close, but he couldn't pinpoint her location. He growled in frustration. _Cas! Why are you never here when I need you?_

Jo suddenly pointed. "Look!"

On the other side of the stadium, two tiny figures were running full-tilt down the tiers of seats. Jimmy squinted, trying to make them out. The moonlight reflected on bright, pale hair of the one in the lead. The other's hair was dark.

"Dammit," Dean suddenly burst out. "That's Mallory!" He took off towards the pair, Jo at his heels. Jimmy looked around again, swore under his breath, and took the short cut. He rolled into the landing as he dropped to the field, picked himself up, and sprinted across the outfield.

The logical part of his brain, the part that belonged to the radio spot salesman, was berating him, demanding to know what the hell he thought he was going to do. Mallory was clearly being pursued by some kind of enemy, either Marax or Belial, and Jimmy wasn't exactly the type cut out for combat. That was more Castiel's forte. Yet despite this, his legs were currently carrying him towards the girl as fast as they could.

Jimmy's lungs were burning by the time he reached the other side, but he didn't let himself stop. He bounded up the stairs to the seating area and angled his way towards the girl and her pursuer. "Mallory!" he yelled. "Mallory, over here!"

She immediately changed course, heading towards him. He could see her now, eyes wild and arms pumping. She crashed into him at full speed, and he only barely managed to keep them both upright. He wrapped one arm around her shoulders and half-turned, putting himself squarely between her and...Oh, hell. It was Marax.

The demon's eyes were jet-black, her teeth bared in a snarl. Large areas of skin on her face, neck and arms had been scorched, leaving black and blistered patches of flesh. Jimmy cringed, his feet rooted to the spot. At his side, Mallory screamed.

Then Marax was upon them, reaching out with clawed fingers to rend Jimmy's flesh. Two sharp reports split the air, and Marax was blown sideways and down, the back of her shirt peppered with buckshot-sized holes.

Jimmy didn't wait for Marax to get up. He bolted in the opposite direction, pushing Mallory along in front of him. He heard another gunshot, and then Dean yelled something unintelligible. Jimmy, still dragging Mallory with him, darted towards one of the exit tunnels and emerged into the outer ring. He started off in the direction of the main entrance.

"Are you okay?" he demanded, looking down at the girl. There was dirt smudged on her face and clothes, but he didn't see any evidence of blood. "Are you injured?" he repeated when she didn't reply.

"No," she gulped, her breath coming in uneven pants. "I-I don't think so." She looked back over her shoulder. "What—what is—?"

"I think she's mad at you," Jimmy cut her off tersely, keeping an ear out for either the demon or his companions. When he heard nothing, he allowed them to slow to a jog. "Come on, the car's around this way." He cast another look over Mallory. He'd had a brief glimpse of Amitiel when she'd arrived to rescue them, and that was it.

She looked incredibly young and incredibly scared. Jimmy mentally cursed the angels for taking a vessel who was little more than a child. She didn't deserve to be involved in this. She had had no idea what she was getting into. Well, for that matter, neither had he. At least, as far as the first time. The second time he'd accepted Castiel, he knew exactly what he was in for, but he hadn't had a choice.

"What's going on?" Mallory stammered, again looking over her shoulder. "What _happened_?"

"Belial tried to kill Castiel, but Amitiel somehow stopped him, but it blew the four of us to all four corners of the city," Jimmy replied. "I'm assuming you can't reach Amitiel?" She gave him a thoroughly frightened look, which he took as an affirmative. He caught sight of the main gate and picked up his pace again, relief flooding into his chest in a warm flood.

Which abruptly turned to ice water when Marax appeared between them and the entrance in a horrible case of deja vu.

Jimmy skidded to a halt and Mallory gasped beside him, latching onto his coat with both fists. "Oh, God," she whimpered, eyes fixed on Marax's face. The demon hissed at them and stepped forward.

"I'm going to rip out your throats," she spat. "I'm going to tear open your chests and feast on your hearts. I'll drink your blood out of your skulls."

That's when Jimmy snapped.

He was tired of being dragged around the planet. He was tired of getting stabbed and tortured and exploded and healed. He was tired of being unconscious most of the time and frightened out of his mind when he was awake. He was tired of being thrown headfirst into the middle of the Apocalypse without so much as an apology.

And now he was mad.

He didn't know how to fight a demon. He was pretty sure he wasn't strong enough to fight a demon. But he didn't really care. He planted his feet, squared his shoulders, and narrowed his eyes. "Bring it, bitch," he growled.

Marax pulled up short, eying Jimmy with sudden caution. He glared back at her, jaw set. Then she pounced, arm lashing out with lightning speed. Jimmy shifted his upper body aside, his hands coming up as he deflected her away from his chest and beyond him. Marax stumbled past Jimmy a few steps and he spun around, shoving Mallory out of the way as he faced the she-demon again.

Marax screeched in anger and lunged again. Jimmy met her forearm with his own, swept it out of the way, and slammed his other fist into her stomach. Before she could recover, he grabbed double fistfuls of her hair and shirt and swung her around head-first into the nearby cement wall. She fell to the ground and rolled away from him, pushing herself up. She tossed her hair out of her face and glared up at him, blood trickling down her forehead. She narrowed her eyes and it felt like something punched Jimmy in the chest, sending him stumbling backwards.

The demon was on her feet in a second and Jimmy could see her coming, but he was still off-balance. He twisted desperately, hoping to again deflect her past him, but she was too fast. Before he could blink, he was on his knees, Marax behind him with her hands gripping his head, tensing to snap his neck.

A solid, warm weight suddenly appeared in Jimmy's hand, and he struck backwards, feeling resistance. Marax screamed and released him, and Jimmy yanked the object free, scrambling to his feet. He looked down. It was a sword, about as long as his forearm and currently dripping blood. Marax clutched at a red stain on her thigh, snarling in pain and anger.

Jimmy blinked at the sword for another precious moment, trying to figure out where the hell it had come from, and almost didn't see Marax's attack. His right arm came up almost of it's own volition, the blade piercing straight through Marax's hand. He slammed his left fist into her face, snapping her head back. Yanking the sword free, he slashed it across her chest, scoring a shallow cut through her flesh.

Marax screamed again and threw out her uninjured hand. Jimmy was once more slammed backwards, cracking his head against the wall hard enough to see stars. Marax bounded forward, pressing one forearm across his throat and sizing his right wrist with her other hand. She dug her thumb into his tendons, trying to force his grip open. Jimmy's hand started to go numb, but he didn't drop the sword. His fingers were frozen over the hilt.

Jimmy scrabbled at Marax with his left hand, trying to push her away, but she didn't budge. His lungs started screaming for air and black spots began dancing over his vision. He gave a strangled gasp, trying to breath as Marax sneered into his face, leaning harder against his throat.

The sound of a shotgun had never been so beautiful. Marax jerked and pushed away from Jimmy, spinning to face her new attacker. Jo stood about five paces away, Mallory behind her. She calmly lowered her shotgun, cracked it open, and reached in her pocket for new rounds. Marax snarled at the young hunter and took a step towards her, dragging her injured leg. Jo didn't look at the demon as she placed a shell in the first barrel. Marax limped closer, reaching out towards Jo. Jo loaded the second barrel and snapped the shotgun back together. Marax was now close enough to touch Jo, hand clawing. Jo swung the shotgun up, tightened her finger on the trigger, and...

Marax stiffened with a scream, her back arching. Jimmy twisted the blade buried between her shoulder blades and shoved it in a little deeper. Marax's bones cast shadows against her skin as she lit up red-purple from within, her body tensing slightly before dropping to her knees, sliding off Jimmy's sword as she did. She lit up one more time, her muscles tightening convulsively, and then she crumpled to the ground.

Jo looked from Marax's corpse up to Jimmy. Despite her calm expression, her chest heaved with exertion and fear. "Nice timing," she said with a tight smile.

"Thanks," Jimmy replied a little breathlessly. "Where's Dean?"

"Right here," Dean said testily as he appeared from around the corner. He was holding his hand to the side of his head, blood smeared on his fingers. His shotgun dangled from his other hand. "Damn, Jimmy. Where'd you learn to fight like that? And where the hell did Cas' sword come from?"

Jimmy looked down at the bloody sword, turning it this way and that as he studied it. It was unlike anything he'd ever seen before. "I have no idea," he replied honestly. He frowned. He really didn't know what to do with the sword now, but, acting on some instinct he didn't know he had, he slipped it up his sleeve and felt it vanish completely. "I think Cas might have something to do with it," he said, his eyebrows raised.

Jo turned to look at Mallory, still standing behind her. "You all right, Mal?" she asked kindly. Mallory looked around at them with wide eyes.

"Thanks for saving my life," she said in a quavery voice. "And no offense or anything, but who the hell are you people?"


	13. Chapter 13

A/N: I started this story thinking it was just a short diversion between working on my other stories and it grew into a monster. It now has the highest word count of any of my other stories and is still growing. I want to say that I appreciate my readers and thanks for the reviews! (I'm looking at you, Starpossum, Charmed Angel 101, Taboo Hearts, and Miss Ink!) However, I do have one tiny request: those of you who have faved and run, or alerted and run, please drop me a note to tell me why you like the story. It only takes a minute and it'll make me love you forever!

XXXXX

They all stared at the girl, eyes wide and mouths open. It was Dean who finally broke the stunned silence. "Tell me that's a joke," he said hoarsely. "Tell me I'm supposed to be laughing right now."

Mallory blinked at him and shook her head slightly. "Um...no. What's going on?" She pointed at Marax's corpse with a shaky hand. "Who was she, and why was she trying to kill me?"

Dean stepped toward Mallory, reaching out to her with his bloody hand. She recoiled in horror away from him and he stopped. "You're telling me you don't remember the last week?" he demanded, much more sharply than he intended. Mallory flinched and backed away a few more steps.

"What are you talking about?" she whispered.

Jimmy scrubbed his hand over his face and gave Castiel another useless jab. He wasn't surprised when the angel didn't respond. If he didn't have bad luck, he'd have no luck at all. "Mallory, calm down," he said in an even tone. "We're not going to hurt you. Just, please, tell us the last thing you remember."

Her gray eyes darted from Dean to Jimmy to Jo and back to Jimmy. "I...I dropped my mom off at the airport," she said uncertainly. "Then...nothing. And I woke up here. With that woman...she was screaming at me...and..."

"Calm down," Jimmy said again when she started working herself up. "What was the date?"

"The date?" Mallory's question came out a little squeaky. Jimmy nodded.

"Just humor me."

She gave him a strange look and obliged. Jimmy nodded again.

"Yeah. Uh, that was three weeks ago."

"_What_?" Yup. Definitely squeaky. "That's impossible!" Mallory cast about as if looking for someplace to run, but Jo darted forward and grabbed her arm. Surprisingly, she didn't fight her. Instead, she stared up at her with huge, wet gray eyes. "What the hell is going on?" she asked plaintively. "I don't—I don't understand."

"Mallory, we'll tell you everything," Jo promised. She sent a glare at Dean, who was being singularly useless. "But right now you have to come with us. We're not safe here."

"I'm not going anywhere with you! I don't _know_ you." The squeak was back in Mallory's voice, and under any other circumstance, Jimmy would find it somewhat amusing, but not now.

"Yeah, well if that were true," Dean shot back, "Then how come I know that you're a student at University of Detroit Mercy, that you're in the nursing program, and that you like applesauce and cinnamon on your french toast?"

Mallory froze, her mouth dropping open. "How—" she began, but Dean cut her off.

"Because I've spent the last week dragging your ass back and forth across the country!"

She gaped at Dean for a moment, and abruptly burst into tears. Jo glared at Dean again and put down her shotgun to wrap the girl in a tight hug. Again, Mallory didn't fight Jo, and even slipped an arm around Jo's waist to hold the other woman closer. Jo made soothing noises and smoothed her hand over Mallory's pale hair.

"It's okay," she murmured. "Everything's going to be okay."

Jimmy sighed heavily. He definitely didn't feel as awkward as Dean looked. He'd been through more than one of Claire's breakdowns and knew exactly what to do: stay out of the way until she'd cried herself out. However long it took. He caught Dean's eye and jerked his thumb at Marax's body.

"We should get rid of that," he suggested. Dean instantly brightened.

"Yeah. Good idea." Leaning his shotgun against the wall, he helped Jimmy carry the corpse out to the parking lot. They wrapped the body in a tarp and stowed it in the trunk of the Impala for later disposal.

"She deserves a decent burial," Jimmy said, looking down at the covered body. "She probably had a family, you know."

"I know," Dean replied. "We'll drop her off at a hospital. They should be able to get her home."

"Yeah," Jimmy said without much hope, and slammed the trunk closed. When they returned to where they had left the girls, Jo was helping Mallory wipe her face clean and tidy her hair. Mallory looked over at the approaching men.

"Could somebody please tell me what's going on, now?" she asked in a small voice. Jimmy, Jo, and Dean exchanged glances for a moment, waging a silent argument that Jo eventually lost. She sighed and rolled her eyes before turning back to Mallory.

"Okay, look. I know what I'm about to say sounds nuts, but I need you to promise you'll listen to everything before you ask questions, all right?"

Mallory nodded hesitantly. "All right."

"Right." Jo sighed again. "Demons are real," she continued bluntly. "That woman was a demon. Her name was Marax. Angels are real, too. He's an angel." She jabbed a finger at Jimmy. "Well, not at the moment, but he's got an angel somewhere inside him. He's...kinda unconscious or something. Anyway, not all angels are friendly. Some of them fell a really long time ago. Like Lucifer. Marax has been trying to free a particular fallen angel named Belial but to do it she had to capture two other angels. Castiel," again she pointed at Jimmy. "And his sister, Amitiel. We tried to stop her but we got our asses handed to us and Marax freed Belial. Then Belial tried to kill us but everything got blasted to pieces and here we are."

Mallory blinked. She opened her mouth. She closed her mouth. She blinked again. "Even if all of that is true," she finally said in a tiny voice. "And I'm not saying it is, but if it is, then what does it have to do with me?"

"Because _you're_ Amitiel!" Dean burst out. Mallory's face went completely blank, absolutely void of emotion. Jimmy recognized that expression. She had completely shut down.

"You're insane," she said flatly.

"You don't really think that," Jimmy told her softly. Her gaze darted to meet his. "Because there's something there, something inside you," he continued. "It's like there's someone right beside you, but you can only see them out of the corner of your eye and it frightens you like nothing else ever has."

Her eyes widened. "How did you know?" she whispered.

"Because that's what it's like for me," Jimmy replied. He reached up to point at her forehead. "That's Amitiel. And it's okay, you don't have to worry, because she's not going to hurt you. She'll use you, yes, and make you do things you don't want to. She'll scare the hell out of you, but she'll never, ever hurt you. And, I'm sorry," he continued with a sigh, "But you agreed to this."

"But," she protested. "I—I don't _remember_ anything!"

He shook his head. "That doesn't matter. It's just the way it works. She asked, and you said yes. I'm sorry."

Mallory took a long step backwards and buried her face in her hands. Her shoulders heaved and sagged as she pulled in a deep breath. For a moment, no one dared to move. Then she lifted her head, her eyes hard and dry. "Okay," she said, her voice even and steady. "Okay. What do we do next?"

XxxXxxX

The motel room was stifling with five of them crammed into it. Dean (the bastard) had made off the instant they had returned, claiming he needed to take care of the body of Marax's host. Sam was pacing along one wall, talking to Bobby on Jo's cell phone, and the Harvelles were going over the armory. Mallory was in the shower, and had been in there for the last half hour. Jimmy figured she needed the time to think and recover, and so wasn't begrudging her the hot water.

He sat in the corner out of the way, his hands resting uselessly in his lap. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to be doing right now. He was so exhausted there wasn't anything he _wanted_ to do right now. He scrubbed his hands over his face, feeling the stubble on his cheeks scratch his palms. He knew what had to be done: they had to defeat Belial. But how were they supposed to do that when the only advantages they had were locked inside the brains of their team's non-combatants? Jimmy grimaced. Well, he wasn't quite the non-combatant he thought he was. He still wasn't sure _how_ he'd managed to kill Marax, just that Castiel must have had something to do with it.

He wondered if maybe somehow he'd be able to find Belial the way he'd found Amitiel, but immediately dismissed the though. He had known where to find Amitiel because Castiel cared deeply for her. Even with Castiel injured and unconscious, Jimmy could feel the relationship between the two angels, and it fostered a protective instinct for the girl. It felt natural for Jimmy to want to keep her safe.

Jimmy blinked when Sam suddenly appeared in front of him, holding out Jo's phone. He stared at Sam's outstretched hand for a moment before lifting his eyes inquiringly to Sam's face. "I thought you might want to call your family," Sam explained quietly.

Jimmy took the phone slowly. "Thanks," he replied, and got to his feet, exiting the motel room. He wasn't stupid; he didn't go more than two steps away from the door, but he just needed to get away from the others for a few precious moments. He dialed her number from memory and prayed she hadn't changed phones.

"_Hello?"_

He felt like crying from relief. "Amelia? It's me."

She gasped. _"Jimmy? Oh my God, are you all right?"_

"I'm fine," he tried to tell her, but she kept babbling over him.

"_The Detroit police called, Jimmy! They said you were in the hospital and then you disappeared! What's going on?"_

He closed his eyes and rubbed at them wearily. "I'm okay," he said again. "Castiel had a run-in with a demon, that's all. Everything's okay now."

"_Are you...free?"_ she asked hesitantly. _"Can you come home?"_

"No," Jimmy replied thickly. He cleared his throat. "No, Castiel still needs me. I'm sorry, Ames." When she didn't reply, he continued hopefully, "Are you okay? You and Claire? You're safe?"

"_Yes, we're fine. Nothing's come for us since...we keep the wards on the house, though. Salt lines and iron and everything."_

"Good," Jimmy said with a nod. "How—how's Claire?"

Amelia was silent again. _"She's starting at a new school. It's hard for her, but she's managing. She...she misses you, Jimmy."_

A tear escaped and Jimmy wiped it away quickly. "Yeah, I miss her, too. Could you tell her—No, just let her know I'm okay." He rubbed his face again, feeling the moisture on his skin. "Ames... I don't—I don't know what's going to happen...but it's going to get pretty rough. These next few months are going to be pretty bad. I want you and Claire just to keep your heads down, okay? Don't take any risks. If you're safe where you are, stay there. Okay?"

"_Okay,"_ Amelia replied softly. _"We will. But Jimmy...you be careful, too. Please. Just promise...promise you'll come home."_

Jimmy didn't even bother to try to stem the tears flowing down his cheeks. "I promise," he said, though his throat kept trying to close. "I'll do everything I can. I'll come home, Ames. I will."

"_Okay. Oh, wait, Jimmy! Claire's here. Do—do you want to talk to her?"_

"Yes!" Jimmy said fiercely, gripping the phone tightly. After a beat of silence, another voice came over the line.

"_Daddy?"_

"Hey, baby," Jimmy said with a watery smile. "Happy birthday. Sorry it's a little late."

"_That's okay. Where are you?"_

"I'm in Detroit," Jimmy told her, shuffling his feet.

"_Are you still with Castiel? Are you fighting demons?"_

"Yeah. Yeah, I am. To both questions. But I want to hear about you. Have you made any friends at school?"

"_Not yet. I've only been going there for two weeks. I miss Pontiac."_

"I'm sorry you had to move, sweetheart," Jimmy said, swiping at the tears running off the end of his nose. He fought to keep them out of his voice; he didn't want Claire to know he was crying. "But you know it was to keep you safe, right?"

"_I know. It's okay, Daddy. I understand. Castiel told me everything, you know. Is he hurt? Is that why you're awake?"_

"Yeah, I think he's hurt, but he'll get better," Jimmy replied.

"_Okay. I love you, Daddy."_

"I love you, too, baby girl." Jimmy took an uneven breath while Claire gave the phone back to Amelia.

"_Jimmy, what's going to happen next?"_ Amelia sounded worried and he wished there was something he could say to reassure her.

"I don't know," was what he was forced to reply. "I just don't know."

The Impala pulled up to the space in front of the motel room door, and Dean got out, casting a questioning look at Jimmy.

"Listen, Ames, I have to go," Jimmy said quickly. "I'll call again as soon as I can."

"_All right. Take care, Jimmy. I love you."_

"You, too." Jimmy hung up and quickly tried to hide the evidence he'd been crying as Dean approached. "All right," he said when Dean reached him. "Let's get to work."


	14. Chapter 14

They almost made it inside before the attack came.

The demons dropped down from the roof of the motel. Jimmy was moving before he really registered the danger. Lunging forward, he grabbed Dean's arm and yanked him out of the way as a demon slammed down where Dean had been a moment earlier. Jimmy swung his fist into the demon's jaw as hard as he could, knocking the creature back against the door of their motel room.

"Sam!" Dean bellowed, backtracking to the Impala and scrabbling at the trunk. "Sam, dammit! Get your ass out here!"

There were four or five demons, all shapes and sizes. Jimmy eyed them warily as they closed in around the two men. Dean yanked a shotgun out of the trunk and spun around, blasting two salt shells into one of the demons' chests. It stumbled back with a shriek of pain, and the others pounced. Dean got off another shot before the shotgun was yanked out of his hands and a demon slammed him backwards against the Impala, one fist tangling in his hair and slamming his head down again.

Jimmy grabbed the demon by the neck and ripped her off Dean, plunging the sword that had appeared in his hand into her gut. Yanking the blade free, he lunged for the next one, yelling at the top of his lungs. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sam barrel out of the motel room, his pistol tracking the demons. Realizing what was going on, he yelled something back inside and caught a shotgun someone threw at him. Shortly thereafter, Jimmy was too distracted to pay much attention to the others.

Another female demon leaped at him and he slipped aside, slashing open her stomach as she passed. With a scream of pain, she dropped to her knees and Jimmy lifted his sword over his head to stab it down the back of her neck, severing her spinal cord. He spun around, raising the blade again, but the next demon caught his arm.

Jimmy gulped as he looked up at his new opponent. The demon's host had an inch or two on Sam and was probably about fifty pounds heavier. The demon grinned at him and grabbed him by the throat, lifting him up off his feet. Jimmy kicked out, the toe of his boot slamming into the demon's groin. He grunted in annoyance and tossed Jimmy away.

Jimmy landed on his hands and knees and rolled on the asphalt. The sword flew from his hand and he felt the pavement tear up his palms. He cursed and tried to get to his feet, only for the big demon to kick him over onto his back and press his foot down on Jimmy's throat.

It really was useless to grab the demon's shoe and try to lift it from his windpipe, but it was the only thing Jimmy could think to do. He was already having horrible flashbacks to Marax. Then the demon sprouted the tip of a sword through his chest and tumbled sideways to reveal Ellen gripping the angel sword tightly. She helped Jimmy to his feet and shoved the blade into his hand. They turned around in time to see the last demon drop to his knees, smoke pouring from his mouth.

"Fucking _fuck_!" Dean raged. "Grab the gear, we need to get gone." Sam and Jo darted back inside the room as Ellen and Dean began clearing the bodies away. Jimmy took a deep breath and slid the sword back up the sleeve of his coat where it again vanished without a trace. He would deal with how he was summoning it later.

Sam came out with several duffels and threw them all indiscriminately into the Impala's trunk. Jo appeared trailing Mallory by the hand. The girl looked confused and, at the sight of the former demon hosts, horrified. Jimmy hurried forward and slipped his arm around her shoulders before bundling both of them into the back seat of the Impala. They screeched out of the motel parking lot a minute later, the Harvelle's red pick-up on their tail.

"What the hell is going on?" Mallory demanded. "Were—were those people demons, too?"

"Belial must be sending shock troops after us," Sam replied, twisting around to check behind them. "And I bet he's pissed."

"Yeah, no shit, Sherlock," Dean growled. "What the fuck do we do now?"

"Get the hell out of Dodge," Jimmy suggested.

"We can't," Sam countered. "We can't let Belial leave Detroit. If he hooks up with Lucifer, we're going to have _two_ incredibly powerful fallen angels stacked against us, and I don't like those odds."

"Okay, fine," Jimmy agreed reluctantly. "Either of you got a map of Detroit?"

Sam stared at him. "What for?"

"So I can figure out where Belial is, genius!" Jimmy snapped. Sam's mouth clicked shut and he dug around for a moment before handing one over. Jimmy unfolded it in his lap and Mallory surprised him by leaning over. Jimmy stabbed his finger down on the paper. "Okay, that's where the fight was in the factory, and _that's_ where I turned up."

"And I was here," Mallory offered, indicating the baseball stadium. Jimmy squinted at the map.

"Marax either landed with you or extremely close by," he continued. "Both of those places are within a one-mile radius of the factory which means...Belial landed somewhere...here," he swept his finger across a section of Detroit.

"What's to say he hasn't moved?" Dean challenged.

"He wouldn't have," Jimmy replied absently. "He'd have found somewhere nearby to hunker down and made his followers come to him. He's not mobile, not like Lucifer."

Sam gave him another wide-eyed stare. "How do you know that?" he asked. Jimmy scowled.

"I don't know. Maybe Castiel is starting to bleed over into me. Does it matter? We need to search through this area if we're gonna find Belial and take him out. That's still the plan, right?"

Dean glared at Jimmy through the rear view mirror. "Something like that. Where am I going?"

Jimmy checked the map. "Take a left up here."

"No, go straight," Mallory instantly corrected. "You can avoid the downtown traffic if you take a right at the second light and head north."

"What she said," Jimmy grunted, jerking his head at his young companion. She was pale, clutching the back of the front seat with white knuckles, but her face was set, determined. Her hair, still wet, clung to her cheeks in damp strands, and the clothes she had borrowed from Jo were slightly too big. Jimmy eyed her sidelong. She was a surprisingly courageous young woman and that, on second thought, didn't surprise him at all. If Castiel was somehow subconsciously affecting him, it stood to reason that Amitiel was doing the same to her, memories or no memories.

"So Belial really is some kind of evil angel," she said, scraping her teeth over her bottom lip. "And you said something about Lucifer? As in the Devil?"

"Yeah, did we mention? He's free and walking the earth," Dean said shortly. "We're kinda in the middle of an Apocalypse right now."

"Oh," Mallory said, nodding. "That's—that's great. The Apocalypse. Huh." She swallowed hard and looked over at Jimmy. "Is your angel waking up, because I'm not getting anything from mine."

Jimmy shook his head. "No. But keep trying. I think we need them right now."

"No kidding," Mallory muttered. "I've got an angel stuck in my head. And I'm not crazy. Who'd have thought, huh?" She peeled her fingers one by one from the seat in front of her and clenched them in her lap. "I'm not, right? Crazy?"

"No, but spend some more time with s and we can fix that," Dean said darkly. "Where do I go next?"

"Follow this road around until you get to the, uh, fourth...no, fifth intersection. Then take another right," Mallory said quickly, leaning forward. "Then it's about half a mile and you take a right at the third light. That'll you dump you right where we need to go." She again looked at Jimmy. "What are we planning to do when we get there?"

"I think you'd better stay out of it, what with your memories and all," Sam cut in, but Mallory's eyes remained fixed on Jimmy's.

He shrugged. "We go in, we kill Belial, we survive. Hopefully. What kind of plan were you hoping for?"

She blinked at him for a moment, and then broke into a brilliant grin. "I dunno, but that sounds pretty straightforward."

"I think Sam's right about this, though," Dean said. "I think you should sit this one out."

She snorted impolitely. "Yeah right. When people try to kill you, you try and kill them right back." She lifted her chin proudly and Dean stared at her.

"That's a...remarkably bloodthirsty policy," he observed. Mallory suddenly looked sheepish and mumbled under her breath. Jimmy didn't catch all of it, but he was pretty sure she said something about a "stupid _Firefly_ marathon on SyFy..." She cleared her throat and regained her stubborn expression. "I can handle a shotgun," she told Dean. "My uncle used to take me out quail hunting when I was in high school."

Dean didn't have a chance to reply when a woman ran out into the street directly in front of him. He swore and swerved the car to avoid her, spinning 180 degrees and coming to a stop. Ellen had to bring the truck to a hard stop to keep from hitting them. Dean swore again and craned his neck to look at the woman, but a man thumped down on the hood of the Impala, his eyes solid black.

Demons swarmed around both cars, smashing the windows and reaching in to claw at the occupants. Mallory screamed when one demon grabbed her by the hair, yanking her toward the window. Jimmy reached across and punched the demon, breaking its nose and pulling Mallory free from its grasp. Dean gurgled as another demon snaked an arm around his neck and hauled him from the car. Sam yelled his brother's name and lunged out of the Impala.

"Stay here," Jimmy ordered and went after Sam. He focused on the sword. He_ needed_ the sword. Then he felt a now-familiar wait thump into his hand and he grinned fiercely. Sam was fending off a demon with the knife and Dean had managed to wrestle out of the demon's grasp and had retrieved his shotgun from under the front seat.

Two demons converged on Jimmy, but he didn't even hesitate. He batted the first's arm aside with ease and shoved the sword into the demon's ribs, angling upwards through the lungs and into the heart. He spun away when the second demon struck, ripping the blade free and dancing backwards. He saw the chain coming out of the corner of his eye and tried to dodge but it still struck him across the chest and shoulder with bruising force. His trench coat shielded him from worse injury, but it still hurt like hell.

Jimmy stared around at the four demons prowling towards him, all of them wielding heavy, black chains, and decided to follow the better part of valor. "Run!" he yelled. "Run!"

Mallory was out of the Impala in a flash, holding a shotgun she had found God only knew where. Then they were running, all six of them, running away from the street and in between the buildings, the demons howling after them.

Jimmy wasn't sure who decided it, but one minute they were racing down the alleyways and the next they were piling into a dark warehouse, slamming the door shut and throwing the locks. Outside, the demons slammed up against the door and the walls, still screaming for their blood.

Jo threw the bag on her shoulder to the ground and pulled out several canisters of salt. She tossed them without word to Sam and Jimmy, who caught them and instantly started guarding the door and windows. Dean had grabbed the duffel with spray paint, and he and Ellen started on Devil's traps.

"We can't stay in here indefinitely," Ellen warned. "We gotta come up with a plan."

"How about surviving?" Dean replied. "Surviving sounds like a really good plan."

"Temporarily, smartass," Ellen snapped back. "Maybe you could come up with something along the lines of getting us out of here."

Dean was once more prevented from answering when the warehouse began to shake, metal screeching and glass shattering. The ground beneath them shuddered, great cracks appearing through the fresh paint. Wind howled through the broken windows, sweeping away the salt lines. The door burst open and the demons poured through.

The fight was brutal, intense, and mind-numbing. Jimmy acted on pure muscle memory, his body moving in ways it never had to before. He felt warm blood spray on his face and fought between fierce satisfaction and crippling nausea.

"_Jimmy?"_

He almost didn't hear the voice. _Castiel! It's about damn time!_

The angel peered out through Jimmy's eyes and didn't hesitate. He took control so smoothly Jimmy didn't realize it until he smashed a demon aside with one silvery wing. Jimmy panted in relief, retreating as far away from the violence as he could. He was done with killing.

Castiel assessed the situation even as he fought. They were outnumbered at least three to one and the humans were already flagging. He looked around for Amitiel and found her a ways off, gripping a shotgun tightly and using it to fend off a particularly insistent demon. He bounded over and swept the creature's head from his shoulders and stared down at his sister.

"Where is your sword?" he demanded. Then he realized that it _wasn't_ Amitiel. It was Mallory. And something was wrong. "Mallory, you need to allow Amitiel to take control," he said quickly.

"I _can't_," Mallory almost wailed in reply. "She won't wake up!"

Castiel frowned and reached into Jimmy's memories for an explanation. What he learned did not please him. With an Enochian curse, he plunged back into the fight.

"Stop!" a deep voice bellowed. "_Cease!_"

The demons instantly stopped fighting and backed off, their eyes fixed on something behind the hunters. Castiel spun around, sword at the ready. Belial stood fifteen paces away, surveying the scene with dark, cold eyes. His own sword was gripped in one hand, held in front of him across Mallory's exposed neck.

Castiel took a step toward them, his grip tightening on his sword, but Belial only pressed his blade closer to Mallory's throat. Castiel froze. "That is not Amitiel," Castiel said softly. "She is an innocent child, Belial. She has no part in this."

"She carries Amitiel within her," Belial replied, his voice void of emotion. "If the child dies, so does she."

"Don't do this," Castiel said intensely. "Let her go."

Belial tilted his head thoughtfully at Castiel. "What will you give me in return?" the fallen angel challenged.

Castiel's eyes narrowed for a moment before his expression cleared. He opened his hand, allowing his sword to drop to the ground. He stepped forward again, raising his empty hands. "I will trade myself for the girl," he told Belial. "Take me. I will not fight you."

"Cas, no!" Dean protested, but Castiel shot him a dark look. Then he turned his attention back to Belial. Mallory's eyes were wide, tears trickling through her lashes. Her breath came in hoarse pants through parted lips, and she trembled from head to toe. She was frightened. She had no one else to save her. Castiel took another step forward.

"I will trade my life for Mallory's, Belial," he said again. "You will have your revenge and you can leave this place. Just let the girl go."

Belial seemed to consider this offer. "You offer yourself willingly?" he asked, sounding vaguely surprised. "You would allow me to take your life?"

"In exchange for hers, yes," Castiel replied with a nod. Belial's broad forehead furrowed.

"Why?" he demanded.

Castiel stared at him in shock. "Have you forgotten what it meant to be an angel, Belial?" he asked. "To be one among many? Have you forgotten your brothers and sisters, and what they meant to you?" He gestured toward Mallory. "She carries my sister, Belial. My _sister_. I would do anything for Amitiel." He took a deep breath. "I love her," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "Have you forgotten love, Belial?"

Belial looked from Castiel down to Amitiel. The girl kept her gaze fixed firmly on Castiel, her lips trembling as she wept silently. Then Belial's face hardened. "Seize them!" he ordered.

Hands latched onto Castiel and he struggled wildly, but there were too many. He was forced to his knees, fingers tangling in his hair and yanking his head back. His own sword was placed across his throat.

"I remember love," Belial said with a sneer. "I remember it as weakness. Now, little brother, you will die because of your weakness."

Castiel set his jaw, his eyes still on Mallory. The blade bit deeper against his vulnerable skin. He began to pray, not for deliverance, but for forgiveness. _Father, I did what I though was right..._

And then, the girl stopped crying.

Her trembling ceased, and her face grew calm, serene. Her eyes, suddenly dark, glittered as they bored into Castiel's. She offered him a tiny smile and her lips began to move.

_Keep fighting, brother._

She took a deep breath. "Shield you eyes!" she yelled. "Shield your eyes!" With a terrible scream, she burst into pure, blinding light. The demons holding Castiel shrieked in fear and pain. The light grew until it filled the world. Castiel saw the shape of two great, winged forms struggling madly. The true voice of his brethren rang out in the warehouse, shaking the building to its very foundations.

Then it was gone.

The girl lay on the ground, the man half on top of her. Castiel lunged to his feet and raced over towards them, dragging the man over onto his back. He was unconscious, but alive, bleeding from his nose, mouth, and ears. Castiel set him aside and gathered the girl in his arms.

She was crying tears of blood, streaks of scarlet down her pale cheeks. She reached out and grabbed Castiel's coat with both fists, struggling to speak through the sobs.

"She's gone," she wept. "She's gone. She's gone. Oh, God... She's gone."


	15. Chapter 15

It was dark when she woke up.

_Empty._

_Alone._

_Gone._

Mallory started crying again. Something soft and warm brushed against her cheek but she didn't bother opening her eyes. It was a damp cloth, soaking up her tears as they ran warm and viscous down her cheeks.

"Mal...hey, Mal, don't cry. You can't cry. You're still crying blood. C'mon, you gotta stop."

It was Sam. She felt one of his huge hands holding her head steady, which was resting against something round and firm...his lap, she guessed. He continued to wipe her face as she continued to cry. She couldn't stop.

Amitiel was _gone._

She remembered, now. Everything. Every day of the last three weeks. Every injury, every moment of pain, and every second of Amitiel's presence glowing warm inside her. It was cold, now, and empty. Deep, tearing sobs kept rising from her chest despite her best efforts.

"Maybe we should take her to a hospital," she heard Ellen say softly.

"Can't," Dean replied. "The BOLO on her went nationwide after our stunt in the Detroit police headquarters. Her picture will be in every hospital from coast to coast."

At that moment, Mallory realized she would never be able to go home. Not after what _she'd_ done. They'd lock her up, in a prison or an institution. There was no going back for her, now. That only made her cry harder.

"Aw, dammit," Sam muttered somewhere above her. "Mal, _please._ Try to calm down. This isn't helping. I know it's hard...I know. But you can't keep doing this. You're losing blood."

She wanted to curl up in a ball, hide in the darkness and make the rest of the world go away.So she drew her knees up to her chest and did just that.

XxxXxxX

It was still dark when she woke up next, even though it felt like hours later. Mallory stirred faintly. She recognized the scent and feel of Bobby's couch, and the threadbare afghan pulled over her shoulders. Sam's lap had been replaced by a pillow and it sounded as if she was alone in the living room.

She reached up and rubbed fitfully at her eyes. They ached: dull throbbing balls of pain. She could still see the light of Amitiel's true form, just the briefest glimpses before she'd screwed her eyes shut. Now she felt dried blood flake from her eyelashes. She blinked them open and frowned.

Didn't Bobby have any lights on? She sat up slowly, reaching out with one fumbling hand until she encountered the lamp on the side table. She clicked it on. She clicked it off. She clicked it on again, fighting against the rising panic bubbling up from her stomach. Closing her eyes tightly, she turned the light off and then on. She slowly opened her eyes.

"_Sam_!" she shrieked. "Sam! Dean! _Cas_!"

Footsteps pounded on the wooden floor and someone skidded to a halt in front of her, thunking loudly down onto knees. Strong hands grasped her shoulders. "Mallory?" Sam asked breathlessly. "Mallory, are you okay?"

"I can't see," Mallory panted. "I can't see. Sam, why can't I see? Oh, my God, _I can't see_!"

"Mal, I need you to calm down, okay? Just try to calm down."

Something inside Mallory finally snapped.

"The best friend I've ever had is _dead_ and _I can't see_!" she snarled, ripping one arm out of his grasp and striking out blindly. "You calm the fuck down!" She felt her hand contact flesh with a loud slap and Sam's grip on her other arm vanished. Mallory collapsed backwards against the sofa and pressed the back of her hand to her mouth as if that would keep in the sobs choking her.

The couch dipped next to her and Sam's arm slipped around her shoulders. She turned and buried her face against his chest, her body shaking with the force of her sobs. Her tears felt normal this time, cleansing water rather than sticky blood.

Voices babbled around her and people came and went, hands touching her, her face and her eyes, but she didn't care. She sat through it all, oblivious and silent once her tears dried up. The darkness wasn't comforting anymore. It closed in around her, pressed against her until she was gasping for breath. She felt her hands being clenched in a warm grip.

"Mallory!" Ellen said sharply, her voice close and in front. "Mallory, listen to me. I know you're scared, but you gotta breathe, okay? Can you do that for me? Can you breathe for me?"

Mallory struggled for a moment before managing to take a uneven breath.

"Good girl," Ellen continued. "You just keep doing that. Deep breathes, in and out. Bobby, you got any tea in the house?"

"No. Hot chocolate work?"

"That'll be fine. Jo, make Mallory a cup, would ya? That's it, Mallory. Keep breathing. You're gonna be okay."

Mallory shuddered. "No, I'm not," she whispered. Ellen's hands tightened over hers.

"Now don't you be saying things like that," the older woman replied firmly. "You're gonna be just fine, we'll make sure of that."

"Ellen," Mallory breathed. "Ellen, I'm _blind_. How am I gonna be fine?"

Ellen didn't reply. After a moment she released Mallory's hands and placed a warm mug in her grip. "Careful, it's hot," Ellen warned. Mallory didn't feel like hot chocolate, but she took a couple of sips to appease Ellen. She burnt her tongue.

Mallory closed her eyes, not that it made a difference, but for some reason it made her feel better, as if the darkness was explainable with her eyes closed. She could hear Sam and Dean somewhere distantly, not talking but she'd become accustomed to the way they moved over the past week. Ellen was still in front of her and Jo sat beside her on the couch. She couldn't locate Bobby.

"Where's Castiel?" she asked abruptly, still cupping the mug in her hands. There was a long silence filled with awkward shifting. Mallory frowned. "Where is he?" she demanded again.

"Uh," it was Dean who finally spoke. "He, uh...had to be somewhere. He left."

The feeling of abandonment hit her like a blow, bringing more tears to her eyes. She screwed her eyes tightly shut against them, focusing on her breath in order to calm down. Really, she shouldn't have expected differently. After all, Amitiel was gone, so there was nothing keeping him around. Why would he want to stay with _her_? She took another sip of chocolate to hide the emotions warring on her face, and then held the mug out in front of her. Someone took it from her grasp.

"I'm tired," she said quietly. "I want to go to sleep, now."

They left her without another word and she curled up under the afghan, face buried in the pillow.

XxxXxxX

Ellen and Jo had left sometime while she was asleep. Dean and Sam had gone out on an errand, Bobby hadn't mentioned where. Mallory sat on the couch for an hour before finally beginning to move. She reached up and touched her face, then her hair. Someone had braided her hair neatly to keep it out of the way. She didn't recognize the any of her clothing, other than the fact it was a button-up shirt and jeans. Her feet were bare, and cold. She could feel the scars on the bottoms of her feet.

She placed her feet carefully on the floor and wiggled her toes against the wood planks. Then she slowly got to her feet. One shuffled step forward and she encountered a rug. She stood on the rug for a moment, burying her toes into the soft fibers. She extended her hand in front of her, groping in the darkness. Feeling nothing, she cautiously stepped forward, wracking her memories for the layout of Bobby's cluttered house.

Mallory made it out of the living room with only a small bruise on her shin and a stubbed toe. She was now in the study, if her memory served. She started by the door and began to feel everything, running her fingers over the covers of the books piled on every flat surface.

_Books._ Would she ever be able to read again? Many of the books were dusty, coating her fingertips. She encountered several things she didn't recognize, turning them over and over in her hands, trying to picture them in her mind. Most of them she gave up on, replacing them as best as she could. One of them she knew the instant she touched it.

A gun. To be more specific, a revolver. The metal was cold and slick as she felt it. Short barrel, rough grip, ridged sights, and by the weight of it, loaded. Mallory carefully closed her hand around the grip and picked it up. She'd never fired a pistol before, only shotguns on her uncle's ranch. It was slightly too large for her hand, but she could still wrap her fingers around it, index curling over the trigger. Her thumb found the hammer but merely rested there.

A strange rushing feeling surged through her stomach. There was something..._comforting_ about the gun. As if it gave her control. Yes, control. She had control now. She blinked against the darkness that refused to lift. She had control over her life. It was simple, really. Such an easy choice.

Live in the darkness, empty and alone.

Or end it. Right now.

Mallory lifted the gun to her face, pressed the side of it to her cheek to feel the cold metal. It smelled of oil; recently cleaned. So she knew it would work. It would be quick. Put the barrel to her temple and pull the trigger. No pain. Just...ending. It sounded nice. Just to be gone. For it to be over.

Her hand started to shake and she lowered the gun from her face. She pressed her thumb harder against the hammer, pulling it back. It clicked once, kept going, and clicked a second time before stopping. The trigger had moved under her finger as well, pulling back, making it so easy to press it just a little further.

Mallory's heart started to race. Fear pooled like ice water in her stomach but rage heated it to boiling. She was going to spend the rest of her life blind. She was useless. Nobody wanted her anymore. Not even Castiel, who she'd thought...No. It didn't matter what she thought. Nothing mattered anymore.

It just needed to end.

She clenched her jaw and lifted the revolver again, bringing it up to her head.

XXXXX

A/N: Yes. A short chapter. I sincerely apologize. However, my plot bunny seems to have run away and the missing posters I've put up have not yielded results. Fear not, though! I have not given up the search!


	16. Chapter 16

The front door banged open, making Mallory jump. She heard Dean's voice, loud and jarring. "Sam, if you don't stop complaining about it, you're sleeping on the porch tonight. End of discussion!" Mallory gasped and hurriedly put the gun back down on the desk, backing away until she tripped over a chair and fell to the ground with a crash.

"Aw, hell...Mal, you okay?" Dean was beside her, arms wrapping around her to pull her upright. He smelled of leather and sunshine and a little bit like dirt. "You really shouldn't be wandering around, you know," he continued, helping her to her feet.

"How else am I supposed to get anywhere?" Mallory demanded crossly, clenching her still-shaking hands into fists at her side. "I was trying for the bathroom."

"Oh," Dean said, nonplussed. "Right. Sorry." He helped her back to her feet and rustled around a bit. Mallory stood still, unsure of what he was doing. "Shit," he muttered suddenly. "Bobby! What the hell where you thinking, leaving a cocked gun just lying around!"

"What're you talking about, boy?" Bobby yelled back.

Mallory wrapped her arms around herself, a cold sweat breaking out on her skin.

"It's just sitting here on your desk, loaded _and_ cocked! C'mon, Bobby, seriously! I don't have to tell you how stupid that is!"

A large hand enclosed her elbow. "Come on," Sam murmured in her ear as Bobby grumbled something in reply. "Let's get out of the line of fire." He ushered her down the hall and out the front door. It was a nice day, cool but not cold, with a slight breeze. The air had a faint scent of tire rubber and motor oil from the scrapyard, but it was otherwise fresh.

"You feeling okay?" Sam asked hesitantly from where he loomed beside her. Mallory put her hands out at waist height and walked forward until she met the railing. She gripped it tight and did her best to school her expression so he wouldn't know she had just tried to kill herself.

"I'm fine," she said shortly. "Physically."

"Do—do your eyes still hurt?"

She reached up with her right hand to rub them fitfully. She felt her eyeballs roll beneath the lids, useless bundles of tissue and nerves. "A little," she replied.

She heard Sam take a deep breath. "So...I've been thinking...you know, about what to do next, and I thought that maybe—"

"You thought what?" she snapped, cutting him off. "I can't go home, Sam. Not ever. I'm never gonna see my parents again." She laughed erratically. "And not just because, oh yeah, I'm _blind_. Not much use to anyone anymore, am I? No one knows what to do with the blind girl."

Sam was quiet for a long time. "Mal, it's not like that," he said softly. "What you've done...we'd be dead if it weren't for you."

"No, if it weren't for Ami," she corrected bitterly. "I didn't do anything."

He sighed. "Fine. Okay. Just saying, Bobby is fine with you staying here for as long as you need to. Until you...well, until you can take care of yourself."

Mallory tightened her grip on the railing until her knuckles hurt. "Whatever," she replied dully. "It doesn't matter."

Sam sighed again and she heard his footsteps retreating to the door, which closed behind him. Mallory dropped her chin to her chest and began to shake from head to toe. She didn't _want_ to think about what to do next. She didn't _want_ to learn to take care of herself. She didn't _want_ to wake up tomorrow morning, still in this damned darkness.

Dean came to get her some time later. "Bobby made chili and cornbread," he told her. "You hungry?"

"No," she replied. He grabbed her shoulder and began pushing her towards the door.

"Too bad. You're eating anyway. You still haven't recovered from the first time you went off food. Let's go."

Mallory ignored the small talk happening around her and managed to swallow a couple mouthfuls of the meaty chili. Then she excused herself and retreated to the living room, finding the old afghan and her pillow unmolested. She curled up on the couch, staring into nothing and occasionally reminding herself to blink.

Night came. Or at least, she assumed it was night because everyone stopped moving around and the house grew quiet. She waited another hour or so. Or, she assumed it was an hour. It was so hard to tell. Then she left the couch and began her search. It didn't take her long and she hadn't expected it too. In Bobby's house, it was all too easy to find.

It had been in a drawer in Bobby's desk, without any protective casing at all. She carefully hefted the knife in one hand, getting the feel of it. There was no wrapping on the handle, leaving it plain metal rapidly warming under her touch. She knew it would be razor sharp. This was Bobby's house, after all. Holding the knife in front of her, she groped her way to the bathroom and locked herself in. She pressed her back to the wall and slowly lowered herself to the ground.

Placing the knife aside for the moment, she pushed her sleeves up above her elbows. The fingers of her left hand probed at the skin of her right forearm. There was a scar running from her wrist to the inside of her elbow. It was still swollen and tender, but it hadn't been deep. Not deep enough. She reached out with her right hand and closed it around the knife.

She was a nursing student. She'd had two years of training plus countless hours of intern work. She knew precisely where the major artery was in her arm and she could find it even blind. She pressed the tip of the blade to the tender skin at the inside of her wrist. Her hand had been shaking with the gun. She'd still been unsure. Her hand wasn't shaking now.

Mallory pressed down on the knife until she felt her skin give under the blade. A line of warmth ran down her wrist. Clenching her teeth, she pushed the knife deeper, and then began to drag it down her arm.

The pain was unbelievable. It snatched the breath from her lungs and forced tears to her eyes. Her stomach twisted sickeningly, but she didn't let up until the gash stretched halfway to her elbow. Then the knife clattered from her fingers and she leaned her head against the wall.

She could feel the blood sliding from the wound, sheeting down her arm and pooling on the floor. Some of it soaked into her jeans, but she didn't care. She numbly tried to calculate how long it would take for her to bleed out, but gave up after a few minutes. It was just easier to sit there and wait.

After a few minutes she started to get light-headed. She took slow, steadying breaths, but there still wasn't enough oxygen getting to her brain. Fire still burned up her arm in waves, but it was getting easier and easier to ignore as her skin grew colder and colder.

It wasn't frightening, she realized. It was a little like falling asleep. She started hearing voices, snatches of words hovering on the edge of a dream. She heard her mom trying to soothe her, her father yelling...again. Uncle Richard telling another bad joke. Robyn and Clarissa giggling over something during class. Mark promising he'll make up for their first, botched date.

And then...Dean. Demanding to know that she was okay. Sam assuring her everything was fine. Ellen telling her to breathe. Jo explaining angels and demons. Bobby, too, gruff and indistinct. And Amitiel...her own voice, murmuring comfortingly in her ear. That she was here for Mallory. That she would never leave, that she'd take care of her. Castiel, his gravely voice insistent and concerned.

Mallory closed her eyes against the voices. It was time to go to sleep.

But Castiel's voice didn't go away. Instead it grew louder, clearer. "Mallory. Mallory! What have you done?" She frowned but couldn't formulate enough thought to respond. Her arm was lifted in strong, warm fingers and something thick and soft was pressed to the wound.

"Mallory, why did you do this?" Castiel's voice asked as another hand supported her head. "Mallory? Can you hear me? Are you all right? Mallory!"

She didn't want to stay and answer the questions. She wanted to leave, go far away. But he wouldn't leave her alone. She groaned and turned her head away from his hand. "G'way," she moaned.

"I'm not leaving you, Mallory," he said softly. "You need me right now."

"You did," she accused weakly. "You did leave. I needed you then."

The pressure on her arm increased. "You are losing a good deal of blood. I need to close the wound."

"No, let it bleed," Mallory slurred. "Bleed all the pain away."

His sigh ghosted across her face and she heard him moving around, stretching, opening cabinets. Then something hard clicked down on the floor beside them. Mallory recognized the sound of a container opening.

"You need medical attention," he said. "I should take you to a hospital."

"No..." Mallory rolled her head against the wall weakly. "They'll recognize me. Take me back. Don't wanna go back."

"Why did you do this to yourself, Mallory?" Castiel asked quietly. Mallory felt him begin to bandage her arm but she was too weak to pull away.

"Why not?" she muttered. "Nobody needs me anymore. Not Ami...not you. Not good for anything. Useless."

Another sigh blew warm air across her cheeks. "Mallory, do you remember what I told you before we returned to Detroit?"

"No," she said sullenly.

"I told you that you are worthy. That hasn't changed."

"Worthy of what?" she demanded. "I'm useless now. Ami's gone...and I'm blind. Everything I did for her and...she just left me. Why'd she leave me, Cas? What did I do wrong?"

He paused his work on her arm and cupped her cheek briefly. "You did nothing wrong," he told her fiercely. "Mallory, you did nothing wrong. Amitiel...she made her choice because she..." his voice broke suddenly. "Because she wanted to save you. Save _us_. She sacrificed herself so that we could live. She wouldn't want you to do this, Mallory. She would never want this."

Fresh tears splashed down Mallory's face and she closed her eyes against them. She was tired of crying. She was just tired. Castiel resumed bandaging her arm. "Why'd you leave, Cas?" Mallory whispered. "Where did you go?"

He was silent for so long she thought he wasn't going to answer. Then, in a low, rough voice, he said, "You are not the only one to mourn Amitiel's loss, Mallory."

"But...I needed you," she whimpered. "No one else...They don't understand...what it's like..."

"They all understand the pain of losing someone you love," Castiel told her gently. "Every single one of them have lost people close to them. They kept fighting. So will you."

"How am I supposed to fight?" she asked bitterly, opening her useless eyes. "What could I possibly do?"

He touched her face again. "Rest. Heal. Pray. You'll find your purpose, Mallory. I promise."

XXXXX

A/N: Yes, I realize it's another short chapter, but look! *holds up plot bunny proudly* I found it! And I'll be keeping a closer eye on it this time. Reviews are like carrots; they make the bunnies happy.


	17. Chapter 17

The only lights on in the house were those absolutely necessary. It was silent except for the odd creak or groan of an old house settling in its foundations. In the study, the desk lamp shed a pool of light over the piles of books stacked in front of Bobby.

He leaned back with a sigh, reaching up to rub his tired eyes. His watch told him it was long past midnight and he'd been working since dinner. Rolling the kinks out of his neck, Bobby looked around the small room. In the far corner, curled up in an oversized armchair, Mallory snored faintly on each inhale. One hand rested on the book in her lap, fingers spread over the open page. She'd been poring over the Braille book ever since Castiel had brought it back for her two weeks ago, and she was finally starting to get the hang of it, just like she was getting in the hang of everything else.

She could navigate the whole house now by touch and memory, and Bobby was careful not to move anything lest he mess her mental map up. Just this afternoon she had proudly made them both sandwiches, albeit with slightly too much mayonnaise, but Bobby wasn't going to say anything.

He scratched at his beard as he watched her sleep. They made a right pair: the cripple and the blind girl. Castiel had told him what had happened in the bathroom that night, but ever since Mallory had been getting better. He'd been thinking about getting her a seeing-eye dog. Maybe that'd cheer her up a bit more. It'd certainly let her move around outside the house on her own.

The Winchester boys did everything they could when they came through on their way somewhere to stop the Apocalypse. They'd been the ones to bring her the cane that was propped against the side of her chair. It was made of pure iron and the hollow interior stored enough salt to make a panic circle. Mallory, of course, loved it.

She sighed abruptly and shifted, the book tumbling from her lap. Bobby smiled faintly when she curled up tighter into a ball, her head thumping down onto the arm of the chair. He wondered what she was dreaming about.

XxxXxxX

The images came so fast she didn't have time to recognize them all. Sometimes it was fire and blood and darkness. Sometimes it was light and glory and songs. And the voices. Some terrible, some wonderful. Hundreds of languages, always babbling in her ears.

And then, one softly-spoken question, only five words long.

"_Will you let me in?"_

Mallory smiled in her sleep.

_Yes._


	18. Chapter 18

A/N: I know, I know, you're so disappointed this isn't actually a chapter. My sincere apologies. However, I have something to make up for it. Sequel! This story has come to an end as the plot line has finally resolved itself (as I said, it became something of a monster) and the characters are ready to move on. I am willing to write a sequel despite the lack of attention this story got _ONLY IF_ you, my lovely readers, tell me you will read and review it.


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